


Maiev Shadowsong - Begging’s Never Been One of my Talents

by AQLM



Series: Elf Fetish [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Healing Sex, Heavy BDSM, Love, Pain, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-08 22:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQLM/pseuds/AQLM
Summary: Watcher and Warden, Priestess and Punisher. Maiev Shadowsong held her long vigil over Illidan until Tyrande released him...and again, once he was slain by Arthas. Freed from her brief imprisonment by the Burning Legion, she begins her healing and confronts her past.





	1. Within Raven Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom comes and she states an empty, bitter truth.

They had tried to crush her in that tower. They had tried to accomplish the Legion’s desires with ghost-wielded whips and undead-carried swords. They had wasted hours attempting to destroy her and had gained no satisfaction. 

The only tears she had shed were ones to moisten her mouth after days of deprivation and starvation. The only words she spoke were to mock their incompetence. The only things they broke were bones. Weeks of endless torture and all they had to show was a bloodied prisoner who never screamed, never whimpered, and never begged.

After all, a ghost against a warden was no real contest. 

Her captors’ tortures were inexact and unskilled. The pain was inflicted without the perfection Maiev easily wielded at her peak. Enduring their abuse had been simple patience, nothing more.

With less satisfaction than she thought possible, she heard her captors break the demon hunters who shared her plight. They were abominations, to be sure, but demon hunters had a raw magical strength that allowed most to resist the pull of their fel blood. Constant torment, no matter how sloppy, would eventually break that resolve. One male crumbled and another grew mad. The girl’s voice was hoarse from begging but she was alive nonetheless. 

The clatter and shouts of battle alerted Maiev to a sudden shift her fortunes. The ghostly guards outside her cell vanished and a breathless few moments later, she heard with satisfaction the cries of their second deaths. Before her bleary and bruised eyes, a tall, blue-leather clad elf opened the creaking metal with a demon’s key, and restored Maiev’s glaive and her armor with reverent swiftness. Her brother soon followed, suppressed his embrace, and looked long and sadly at his sister. Maiev was surprised at his followers. Neither his devotees nor her Watchers were among them. No, he had brought a band of nameless heroes to slaughter their way through the ranks of the undead. 

These unknown heroes offered their bows, their magics, their blades, and their bodies to her rescue with surprising readiness given her unkind history with the Kaldorei. Maiev’s willingness to free her long-reviled prisoners had earned her a place among the Alliance, at least for time being. Such trivialities as nearly murdering one’s kin or attempting to assassinate the leaders of one’s race were ignored in the face of the Burning Legion. Whether the conclusion of the war would lead to her imprisonment alongside the demon hunters was anyone’s guess. 

She moved with her liberators through the tower, gritting her teeth as she lagged behind. Yes, the ghostly torturers had been inexperienced, but they still exacted their toll on her body. The bit of provisions she had downed at the hero’s insistence would not undo weeks of malnourishment. Light’s blessing and shamanistic waters did little mend her. Though her glaive’s edge sliced cleanly into the ghostly essence of her captors, Maiev could feel where her torn muscles and lax joints positioned the blade inelegantly. She would need to convalesce, a pitiable thought. It would be some time before she would be able to return to the head of her order.

Beside her brother and the band of heroes, Maiev confronted the head of her torturers, the glowing body of an unremarkable-in-life nobleman named Desdel Stareye. Confronted, he shouted they would beg for mercy. In return, she had scoffed, “Begging’s never been one of my talents.” She had punctuated her words with a swipe of her glaive.

The risen spirit attacked and was struck down with vigor. She watched the spirit flee back to the afterlife, then let out a deep sigh that shifted her broken ribs and turned into a cough. The peace she thought she’d feel at the ghost’s defeat was sparser than she expected. Instead, there was fatigue and growing pain as they crawled the stairs out of the hold. 

The air aboveground was no less laden with the stench of fel and death than it had been at her capture. At the base of the ruined Ravencrest castle, she saw the rippling of ghostly energy to her east and the green false dawn of the legion’s invasion to the west. She thanked her liberators, among them a demon hunter who smirked a salute and vanished, leaving the two Shadowsongs alone. 

Her brother placed a comforting hand on her shoulder that she knew better than to shrug off. A good man who had forgiven her, removed her from a literal dark place. Once the numbness of her imprisonment wore off, he could be more properly thanked. She offered a weak smile and tried minimizing his concerns. He had none of it.

“We should bring you to the Temple of Elune for healing and rest. You cannot return to the front lines like this.”

“I will not be fit for some time, but do not bring me near Tyrande. The outcome will be undesirable for all concerned,” she rasped. “Take me to my Wardens, to my sisters.”

He shook her head. “No, Maiev. They will welcome their mistress all too quickly. They will wish you resume your position at their head though they have served me faithfully for many years. I cannot allow it, not yet.” He stretched himself to his full, greying height. “The groves of Malfurion, then? The druids may be of a more forgiving nature…”

She gave a sad grin. “The last time I saw him, I tried to kill him. The peaceable Shan’do…”

“…has been imprisoned within Darkheart Thicket by the Shade of Xavius. The brave heroes who have freed you now seek to release Stormrage from the grip of the Nightmare.” 

Her brother’s visage turned from her. “And even if he were here, he would not reject you, Maiev. Too long has corruption ruled our perceptions of each other. We all approach this war with a clear mind and blank slate.”

She bowed her head, acknowledging his wisdom. “I will accept your suggestion, brother. Bring me to the druids. Let them piece me together once again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you didn't think you could launch an entire fanfic with a single sentence, Blizzard, you really didn't know how much I have been itching to write Maiev.)


	2. Within the Dreamgrove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev rests in the Dreamgrove after her rescue, but not for long.

The cottage was gently decorated and smelled of budding life, as did all things of druidic nature. Vines and budding shoots encroached on every surface, a gift from the dryads and keepers who served this home of Cenarius. The mossy and damp scent made her nose twitch. Not unpleasant, of course, but unfamiliar.

She could have been met with scorn or suspicion – her acts had warranted that much. That was likely why her brother had arranged her first caretakers to be simple Sisters of the Glade. They were creatures not known for their intelligence, a fact they all embraced. Their Keeper of the Glade brothers had joined Maiev beneath the earth during her long imprisonment, providing a breath of green within the endless echoing caverns. They were more contemplative and intelligent than their flighty sisters, but in a field of battle Maiev preferred the silver poisoned spears that flew with a daft smile through the hearts of enemies.

Her brother had placed her at their mercy and with practiced hands they attended her wounds. She allowed them to bring in water from the moonwell and use it with their own green magic to seal the cuts and knit the bones. They also saw fit to bedeck her door with flowers and release small birds around her. She had endured daily beatings. The chirping of wildlife would be something she could also overcome.

The immediate pain dissolved under their spells and the pain she didn’t know she had been carrying evaporated along with it. When in pain long enough, she reflected, you lose awareness of the sensation until the pain is gone. After that you miss the pain, wonder what happened to it. Pain the companion she could talk to every day. Pain the focus from the things that caused the pain.

She quickly became restless in these verdant settings. A life of constant hunting, constant watching did not take well to being kept in a place of peace. When imprisoned, she had focused her energies on survival and escape. In a warm, safe place, she felt the hours creep around her. The knowledge of the battles outside the door coupled with her slow rehabilitation made the entire experience unpleasant. 

That was not to say she was truly safe. So near was the evil of the Nightmare that she was barely allowed to dream. Before her imprisonment, her dreams were always dark and unsettling. With the Nightmare’s influence crawling over the land, even the most gentle fantasy could become twisted in moments. The inhabitants of this place knew that and so she found her dreams simple, flowers and greenery, walking and floating. Harmless and comfortable, just like her surroundings.

Maiev forced her mind to reconsider her frustrations. A bed was far more enjoyable than a blood-stained stone floor. Ample meals were preferable to starvation. Her company, no matter how brainless, had no interest in harming her. No one filled her days with pain and deprivation. Better than torture, yes.

Her armor and glaive sat on the floor near her, subtly rusting after weeks of unaccustomed disuse. She had asked for a polishing cloth and a sharpening stone. Her caretakers had yet to oblige. That was her brother’s doing. He wanted his warrior sister to rest after her ordeal. He thought to protect her from her duties and the life she had been living, without end, since he was just a pale-haired boy. He could not understand: there was never a rest from being a warden. There was never an end to the place within the walls. She would always be jailed, always be the pursuer. That Illidan was dead changed nothing. 

She picked up the glaive nonetheless. Its weight gave her comfort. How many times had she had this blade as her only friend through a long and lonely hunt? How many times had it been used to subdue rather than murder? Not all creatures deserved death, or so she was told. It was sometimes better to hold them in the hopes of reform or reuse. How much better would it have been to murder him…kill him…when the chance had been available? 

She gave herself over to dark thoughts as she traced her fingers over the pockmarked edge. The Vault of the Wardens was in ruins, the comforting halls and orderly cells were overrun by fel creatures crawling out of their imprisonment to be welcomed by the Legion. Her hand had released the final rush of prisoners, demon hunters whose awful sacrifice would nonetheless serve against the overwhelming foe. The scant few Watchers who remained clustered in a small encampment on the island, unable to retake their home.

She contemplated her own beloved sister, Cordana Felsong, becoming one of the Legion’s harbingers. Some attributed it to the whisperings of Gul’dan while on that orc planet, but Maiev had her doubts. Cordana had survived thousands of years among the demons they imprisoned beneath the earth. A handful of months near a mortal warlock was child’s play. She suspected the switch came earlier, perhaps when Cordana realized Warden prowess could do nothing in the face of Tyrande’s desires or Illidan’s wrath. 

A slip of an elf entered her room without a knock. Maiev tightened the grip on the leather-wrapped portion of the blade and brought the curve across her body in an instinctively protective manner. The pale thing, hair of ice blue and skin of a dawning sky, knelt her apologies towards her guest and placed a tray beside her on the ground.

“Apologies, Mistress. They had said you were resting. I was here to leave food and drink for you when you awoke.” The girl had eyes that had seen few weapons, fewer wars. The faint glow of moon’s magic ringed her hands and hair. Maiev willed her weapon back to her side.

“Come here girl,” Maiev said flatly. The girl approached and Maiev contemplated her in the lamplight. “You are a child of Elune, are you not?”

The girl gave a quick nod. “Acolyte, yes, ma’am. Brought here with the Priestess Tyrande to fight against the Legion.”

With a crooked finger, Maiev beckoned the girl closer. She reached a hand up and cupped the girl’s chin with a soft snort. “Did they, now? Why are you among the druids, then? There is no Temple for you?”

The girl trembled and kept her eyes forward, her fingers clenching back and forth by her sides. “Even the druids of the Grove have need of the services of Elune.”

Maiev let her fingers drag down to the pulse at the base of the girl’s neck. “Which is why they worship Elune in their own ways, through the druidic rites few are privileged to see.” The jailer sat up taller. “Your real, purpose, child. No lies to me.”

The trembling quickened under Maiev’s fingertips. “They…they thought you would be glad to see a fellow priestess, mistress?” 

“Hah,” spat Maiev, easing herself to standing without removing her hand from the girl’s throat. Years in the darkness notwithstanding, the elder elf had a robust purpleness, a strength of color that left the girl shadowed. “I have not been a priestess for longer than your mother’s mother has drawn breath. I have been in the dark longer than her father’s father has known light. Do not lie to me.”

Glittering tears found their way out of the priestess’ downcast eyes and onto her translucent skin. “They hoped I could heal the injuries they could not see, mistress.”

Maiev tightened her grasp, not enough to stem the blood or crush the breath. Just enough to remind that the hand was not benign. “Who sent you to call me with such a name. The wardens call me mistress. My prisoners call me mistress. My quarry calls me mistress. Not children of the moon too far from the moonlight.”

The girl began crying openly, too scared to wrench herself from Maiev’s grasp. “The druids. Your brother. The heroes. They knew you were locked up. They knew you were tortured. They thought I could help you with the darkness.”

Maiev brought her hands back up the girl’s neck and tilted her head up with a single dark finger. “Open your eyes and look at me, girl.” The young elf complied and gazed at Maiev with grey eyes bearing the glow of Kaldorei blood. There was a beautiful quivering fear within them, the need to comply and the need to not flee. It was intoxicating, yet Maiev would not indulge given the circumstances. She adopted a less threatening tone.

“There is a darkness in me the moonlight has long since left behind. Those who sent you to me know that. What they thought they could accomplish with a child is a question you should ask them.” 

Maiev dropped her hand to her side and let the girl nod frantically. “Of course, mis-“

“Call me Warden, child. You do not have the standing to do otherwise.” Maiev sat back on the bed. “Return to those who sent you. Tell them I am offended they would think I would take a child to purge myself of my demons.” She shook her head. “You are blameless. Tell them my next visitor should bring me a whetstone. Now go.”

The girl flitted away like a glowlight and left Maiev alone. She picked up the armor and ran her fingers over the links of the underchain. They would need more repair than she could provide. A blacksmith and a leatherworker together might remedy what her captors and time had wrought. The Legion had brought no shortage of talented artisans to these isles. Easy coin could be arranged to remedy or replace what had been damaged.

A heavy pounding on the wooden door snapped Maiev’s head up from the grey-green cloth. 

“Enter.”

Another elf walked into the room. Broad-shouldered and grey clad, her face masked by a faceguard set into a curving, spiked helm, she blocked the flow of thin light into the door. In her gloved hand she carried something she threw on the bed out of Maiev’s reach. Not moving her eyes from her visitor, the elder elf reached over and picked it up. The shimmering points of the stone tore at her fingers.

“A whetstone, as requested, Warden,” growled the figure. 

“Thank you,” Maiev replied evenly.

“There was no need to traumatize the child,” the warrior said. “It was not her fault she was sent to you.”

“Then perhaps it will teach her to question her superiors when she fears she is being sent into a trap,” Maiev said, taking the stone and moving it along the curving edge of the glaive. Tiny flecks of rust shed onto the bedclothes and the floor. 

“You never brooked much on questioning, Warden. Had we questioned, you would have killed us as easily as any quarry.”

Maiev knew better than to take the bait. A soldier with a mask, a hidden revelation, these were techniques older than she designed to unnerve a prisoner. She moved the whetstone again, raising her voice against the scraping of metal. 

“It served you well if you stand here to question me, elf-child, and are not dead in some unknown land.” She did not look up. “Take off your helm, girl, so we can talk, or are you trying to make me guess?”

“No, Warden,” replied the soldier. “I was merely seeing if you would recognize my voice.” 

The helm was removed revealing a deep purple elf with vivid green hair. Markings of the same color drew across her face, highlighting the white glow of her eyes. 

“I was mistaken. There were so many of us you briefly commanded.” She tucked the helm under her arm and came closer to the bed. “I made no impression, it seems.”

Maiev put down the glaive and inspected the solider in front of her. This one was far older than the babe who they had just sent in. Thousands of years were etched across her face. Lines of sorrow, lines of age, lines of determination that were worn in before the elves lost their immortality. Her features were sharpened, a trait bred out in the generations after the Sundering. Taller, as well. Nurtured by the ancient magic of the moonwell.

“I do not know your voice, soldier,” replied Maiev. “You are not one of my Wardens, my Watchers. Those names and faces I know as well as my own.”

“Or Illidan’s,” remarked the soldier. “You could more easily draw his face than your own, Warden, should you be given the slate.” 

A tiny prickle of ire formed at the base of Maiev’s spine. 

“Perhaps,” Maiev said, “When you spend so much time in the dark, mirrors are meaningless.” Another pass of the whetstone. “What game are we playing, soldier? I am not at my peak so I cannot be a good opponent for one such as yourself.”

“No game, Warden,” replied the soldier. “I come with the offer to lead you from this green and floral cottage to a place you would far prefer.”

Maiev looked up. “You would take me to my Watchers,” she said, a bit breathless. 

“Not yet,” replied the soldier. “You should no more go to your Watchers than I should go into battle with a broken bow. But this is not the place for you to heal.” The soldier turned around. “One of the attendants will come with new armor for you. Leave your glaive and your own armor here. They will be repaired while we travel. Or you can stay and the same will happen.”

“What is your name, soldier,” asked Maiev after the retreating figure. 

“Mithrehin Leafsdawn, Warden. I will meet you outside.”


	3. Two Women Beneath the Earth (A NSFW Chapter!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a conversation reveals too much and too little.

Parts of Maiev were unnerved by how willing the druids had been to turn her over to a stranger. But when she had thought to ask the druids of Val’sharah about her company, the soldier had turned towards the guards and said, “Am I known to you?”

Many heads had bowed quietly and said, “You are known.”

That had satisfied Maiev and she allowed herself to be brought from the village to a destination unknown. They rode on moonsabers, Mithrehin’s a milky blue-white, Maiev’s a pale grey, and spoke little as they journeyed. Maiev’s gaze drifted towards her companions. The elf beside her was a hunter, flanked by a ghostly wolf who growled softly at hidden prey and matched their speed with lanky strides. At her other side was a panther with glowing eyes and rivulets of cursed mana along his back. The beast was unruly and the hunter occasionally clicked to it to settle down. A recent acquisition, it would seem.

Astride a strange riot-feathered bird was the hunter’s follower, a mongrel beast named Rexxar. He had been part of the Horde and had easily cut his way through her sisters when they perched among the spires of Blade’s Edge Mountain. Yet he served this night elf, unquestioning and silent, giving no notice of Maiev other than to send one of his own beasts to guard her flank.

As if to answer Maiev’s unasked question, the soldier said, “He is a member of the Unseen Path, the order of hunters who now serve me as attendants. He is my sworn companion, as much as any beast or any weapon. You need not fear his heritage or prowess, regardless of the history you shared in Outland.”

They camped once, then rode farther still, not stopping though the sunlight dimmed to darkness through the forest canopy. The forests were a deep and ancient green unlike the magic-tinged pinks and purples of Darnassus and Ashenvale. Certainly they were different from the scraggly and scaled trees that wedged their way into the rocks near the Vault of the Watchers. That island was shattered and gray even before the Legion’s coming. 

Since they had come to the Broken Isles, Maiev had spent little time above the ground. She had helped carve the Vault of the Wardens to replace the prison Tyrande had destroyed. She had personally imprisoned Illidan’s body and his demonic followers. She had chosen to pace the halls most nights, only venturing outside to stalk after particularly deadly prey. The rising of the ghosts of Ravencrest she had not counted as notable. Perhaps she would have been more prepared had she spent time around that ruined castle.

They arrived at a cave and dismounted, leaving the beasts outside with the retainer. 

“Guard the door. Ward and trap it as needed. Hunt and keep the provisions,” instructed the soldier. “Send word for me if we are invaded in force but nothing less than that. If you need help, the Unseen Path will answer your call.” The beast man nodded and pulled the animals aside.

The path down to the cave was cool and dimly lit with flickers of iridescent algae and mushrooms that counterfeited moonlight. It had a damp, enclosed smell that reminded her of the Vault in its early days before they had carved out the cells. The two women twisted down into the earth, slick rocks and skittering spiders passing below them, with no hint of the path’s end. Perhaps their destination was a final entrapment, the fitting end to the woman who had spent her life beneath the vault of earth.

At last they came to the base of the cave. Maiev had expected a structured domicile akin to the barrow dens favored by druids. Instead it was a mere step beyond a hole in the ground, albeit one that had been stocked for regular habitation. Provisions were there, bedrolls, equipment to keep armor in serviceable shape, a handful of cushions that pretended to be a sitting area. Scraps of paper, with a few pieces of leather and assorted stones. A deep and a quiet place but hardly a permanent home.

“Here we are,” said the soldier. She undid her pack and placed it carefully by the back wall. “I prefer this place to the Trueshot Lodge or Dalaran when I need space for contemplation. Too long I have spent traveling and even I tire of my duties. A cave is needed for every hunter.”

Maiev observed the soldier cautiously. The woman rifled through her packs and brought out some simple foodstuffs and placed them on the floor. She struck dry bark with the flints and lit wood within the fire pit. Maiev watched the smoke go up and collect around the roof, then wisp away through hidden channels that would prevent the collection of gaseous poison.

“And whose home was this before,” wondered Maiev. “It has the feel of an ancient place, but the walls vibrate with new magic.”

“The inhabitant is dead by many bows and blades. He wallowed in his evil for centuries and it took much effort to cleanse his stench. I called a favor from a Priestess of the Naruu. It is her blessing you feel.” The hunter cast her gaze around the walls. “The followers of this demon have been driven from these surroundings. None may pass into this stone.”

Maiev let out a snort and the hunter raised a greenish eyebrow. “You carry a disdain for the children of the Light in every form,” Mitha said cautiously.

“I was denied the moonlight for a lifetime and when I returned to the surface for the first time, I realized Mother Moon gave me no succor. The Eredar-kin and their mystic aliens are no better than those that grovel to the Elune.” 

Food was offered and Maiev ate, then washed herself in the designated area of the cave while the hunter journeyed back upstairs to give her privacy. The water swirled away as neatly as the smoke, refilling shortly thereafter from a hidden stream. A well-crafted hole in the ground, meant for longer habitation.

When the hunter returned, Maiev rearranged herself on one of the cushions and fixed her eyes on the smoking fire. “So why have you bought me here?”

“As a favor.”

“To whom? The Druids? My brother?”

The dark elf sat down beside the fire and removed each piece of her mail armor, inspecting it by the glinting light and rubbing it down with a piece of fabric before responding. “Naisha.”

The name sent prickles of recognition and anger through the Warden. She knew the name well. A dear companion, a close Watcher, one of the first she had lost in her chase for Illidan after Tyrande had set him free on the earth. Maiev remembered too well when she had been forced to use her magic to speed through encroaching stone walls. She had spirited herself far enough away that she could not hear the screams of those crushed beneath the trembling earth as Illidan sought to split the world. She imagined their agony nonetheless.

“You do not know that name, child. That name was dead long before you ever met me.”

The other elf looked up at her and squinted her eyes. “You do have little memory of your time above the earth, don’t you Warden?” She looked back to her piecework. “You came to my village seeking Illidan. He had swept through, burned our buildings, taken our boats, slaughtered our sisters. I was a ranger then, an archer in the service of the people. You called upon us to chase with you and we did. Eight weeks on a boat to these islands, Warden. Eight weeks with people I have never met before, chasing an elf whose name was a mere legend.” 

Maiev placed her hands on her knees. The cave was still uncomfortably cool and she shivered against the borrowed armor. She remembered those days, coming upon a fishing village that had been razed by the Naga sent by Illidan. She had remembered rallying soldiers to her, not just her Watchers, but other elves who joined her cause. She looked again at the soldier in front of her. Maiev shook her head. “If you were among those in my band, I do not remember you. I am sorry. Those days are a bitter blur.”

“To many of us, as well. We followed you here, followed you across the islands, watched you enter the tomb of Sargeras with two dozen soldiers and see only you come fleeing out. We fought with you against the Legion that day. Some crossed with you to the human lands. Some crossed with you through the Dark Portal. I returned to our homeland. When the need came, I served my people again in the frozen north. I served them when the land was shattered by Neltharion. I served them when we went to Pandaria and when we journeyed to another world to fight the Iron Horde. I did not follow you again, Warden Shadowsong, but I never forgot.”

Maiev folded her hands in her lap and looked into the fire. “I do not know what you want me to say, child. I am thankful for your service and I am sorry you seem to have lost so much.”

The hunter looked up at her with empty eyes. “I lost nothing, Warden, in your service. I did my duty. It would have been nice to have been recognized but I accept that was not the case. And as I say, I am not here for you, I am here for Naisha.”

“And what do you know of Naisha?”

“I know your secrets, Warden. I know what she said did in those dark places beneath the earth from which no elf believes she will return.”

Maiev felt herself flush and burn. “You tell lies.”

The hunter gave a disinterested wave of her hand. “Every prisoner thinks he knows the Warden’s perversions.” She rolled the ‘r’ into a lascivious purr that she dismissed as she continued. “And the other Watchers, they think know too. Whispers are screams in the caves, are they not? That’s what they have told me, at least. But none of them know what Naisha actually did to keep you sane.”

“You have no way…”

“Naisha stood with me on deck, for I was accustomed to the sea and she had never been on more than a rowboat. I helped her get her sea legs and showed her the constellations once she could stand. Did you know the stars had moved in 5000 years? That was the last time Naisha said that she had seen them.”

Maiev got up but the hunter was too quick for her. The hunter sat her back down deliberately, a firm hand on each shoulder.

“She said you have a moon tattooed underneath your left collarbone, a reminder of the time you spent training to be a priestess of Elune. She said she refused to scar it over even when you asked because she did not want you to forget. She said you never called her bondmate, not even in private, because you feared the day you two would be sundered. She said that if I should ever have you in this position, I should say those words so you know I was not lying.”

Maiev shook herself loose and turned away. Every word was painful truth. But for Naisha to say those words so casually to a stranger hurt and revolted her. Naisha’s last act for her mistress was one of casual betrayal. 

“I could to tell you every other thing she told me about you, Warden. She knew you blamed yourself for Illidan’s escape. She knew you loved Illidan as much as you hated him. Loved him for the purpose he gave you, hated him for what he did. Loved him because he made you feel all-powerful. Hated him because he was as dangerous as you. Naisha said she wondered what would happen to you if she were to die and Illidan were still free. If the two great loves of your life were lost and all you had left was yourself and the voices that drive you.” 

“I did not love Illidan,” spat Maiev. “I hated him. I hated what he meant and what he did to our people.”

“It is a glaive’s edge between love and hate. He was your reason for being, Warden, and your constant companion for 10,000 years. Not a single Watcher could claim that honor. The things you shared with him, intimacies of torture and emotion…” she said. Her voice was insistent but so gentle, so careful. 

“How many hours did you spend exploring his body for pain as you would a lover’s for pleasure. He saw you in that raw peak of physicality, did he not? With your body glistening from the exertion of his brutality, with the thunder of adrenaline pulsing across you. You could have locked him in a stasis cell, but you kept him alive and moving. You needed his screams. You needed his attention.”

Maiev looked away, perhaps in fury, perhaps in shame. Had she kept him alive for that reason? She though it was just punishment. He had been the instrument of their destruction, to her, more than a tool of their salvation. It was right for him to be tortured above all others. She could not ignore how she roiled with need and unkempt energy whenever she returned dripping from her sessions with him.

Maiev gritted her teeth. “Fine. You think you know my secrets, girl. So you have them. You have discovered the disgusting perversions, as you say, I wrought with one of my Wardens. Was that why you brought me down here? To question me and sexual proclivities I have not indulged in an over a decade.”

“Far from it.”

Now those fierce eyes bore down at her with intensity that was not disgust. “How long did it take for you to reach out to Naisha when he could not fulfill you. Or was it the other way around?”

Maiev looked at the ceiling of the cave. Smoke was pooling there before being whisked away through hidden vents. She remembered candles in the darkness, a solitary place far from the Watcher’s quarters. They had hewn out her dwelling in deference to her leadership, though the area was hardly sumptuous and the miasma no less oppressing. It was a few hundred years before she would be allowed to pursue the enemies of the Kaldorei, so concerned were they about Illidan escaping without her expert attention. In those perilous times, she was left belowground with no light while the other Watchers ventured above. When they returned, they would bring candles that she hoarded, letting her soldiers make do with the natural algae or glowing magic from the earth. No one dared begrudge her.

Naisha had not come with her original band of Watchers. Those first women who journeyed beneath the earth were not mere soldiers whose sense of duty forced them away from their people. No, these were women who had been shattered by the war, as much as the land had been broken apart by the evils of Illidan’s magic. Women who had slain their demonic children. Women who had thrust their blade through their spouses’ hearts. Women who had screamed aloud to Elune and heard no reply as they were tortured by demons. 

These Watchers were as dangerous and wild as the demons they had fought, driven all but mad by grief and war. The leadership could not fault their pain but the fledgling druidic society had no way of healing hearts. The land, yes, a cut, yes, but a destroyed mind? Beyond even Shan’do Stormrage. Maiev had gathered them to her fold. What better way to purge their demons than to set them upon Illidan and his conspirators? Hidden in the darkness, they could unleash their rage far from the people they scared.

Naisha was not of that sort. She was a whole priestess, sent by Tyrande to replenish the hearts and spirits of the Wardens. It was a meager gesture, believed Maiev, conciliatory for the indignity of Maiev’s being cast aside as leader in favor of Tyrande. Maiev admitted her treatment of Naisha had been unkind at first, but the priestess was patient. She had fire that illuminated those dark walls as much as any stolen candles. She persisted, she pressed. She taught the words of Elune to the darkening Watchers and brought healing. Maiev was as jealous as she was grateful. Even her deep selfishness would not begrudge a battered warrior Naisha’s attentions.

Naisha had walked into the Warden’s lair one night, drawn closed the curtain that provided scant privacy. She had then cast a spell, a binding that would guard them from ears and eyes.

“I have come to heal you, Maiev,” said the priestess. She drew close to the Warden, who looked at her with skeptical eyes.

“I am uninjured,” observed the elder elf. “The scars, visible and invisible, are gone.”

“No, they are not.” Naisha drew her hand along the lines of Maiev’s chiseled features. She tucked back a white strip of hair. “There are the sacrifices you make beneath the earth every day that accumulate upon your soul. I am here to relieve them.”

Maiev took the hand down, placed it against the other woman’s side. “You are incorrect, child. Go back to my followers.”

“No,” she replied. She pressed herself next to the Warden. “There are needs you have, Maiev, that none of those out there can fulfill. I know you had no mate above the earth. Illidan is a poor substitute. I can give you what you want, what you need. It is too long for you to remain celibate.”

Maiev again pushed the girl away. “A whore of Elune? I can administer pleasure to myself as required.”

“You cannot give yourself what I can give you, mistress,” Naisha replied. She breathed the word in a soft hiss and Maiev found a thrill run down her body at the sound of that title. The young woman shook her head and stepped back. She undid the front of her robe and let the blue-green fabric fall to the ground, leaving her unclad in the darkness. Faint trails of goosebumps ran up her arms and her nipples peaked in the coldness of the cave. 

“I can give you something to own and desire. Someone who will worship you out of need and not fear.”

She drew taloned fingers over her body, tracing each upturning breast and gasping in pleasure as she left ridges in her dark flesh. Her other hand trailed down her abdomen and lingered above her mons before parting her lips and sliding inside.

Maiev swallowed, at a brief loss for words. She had scant lovers before diving into the darkness. Above the ground, she had found neither man nor woman with whom she wanted anything more. Here, among those whom she could never consider her equals, she had tried to content herself with rapid, pleasureless fumblings to bleed off her desire. Watching this woman masturbate revealed to Maiev just how insufficient her self-administrations had been. 

Naisha hand thrown her head back and was moving against her own hand in ecstasy. The warden lost her control and rushed forward, pinning the girl’s hands behind her and kissing her brutally. She pushed Naisha against the wall and scraped her fangs along the nape of her neck, eliciting a cry of pain that barely concealed the moan of enjoyment that followed it. Maiev thrust her free hand into Naisha’s wetness, the soft walls closing around her fingers. Naisha shuddered and whispered, “Slowly, mistress. I promise I will deny you nothing.” 

Maiev had been unable to comply and moments thereafter the young woman writhed in orgasm against her captor. She had rested her head on the Warden’s shoulder and tugged her wrists free as Maiev relaxed. In a breathy voice, she murmured, “Now you.”

Maiev did not undress other than to unbuckle her leathers. She bade the girl kneel in front of her and use her mouth through a gap in her clothing, moaning as a skilled tongue found its mark. She dug one hand into the wall to steady herself and used the other to pull Naisha into her further, grinding unconsciously against her mouth until she reached her peak and tumbled over it. No one, not even herself, had ever given her pleasure like that. Seconds later, she released the young woman and looked away in disgust. 

“You should go. I am sorry.” 

Naisha had risen, dressed, and drawn her fingers over Maiev’s cheek. “I will return.”

Lost in her memories, Maiev finally answered the hunter. “Years. And it was years before I allowed it once more.” She blinked a few times. “But regardless, those days are long past. She was my lover. She died to capture Illidan. Now you know.” Maiev shook herself loose. “I would prefer not to revisit those memories.”

“I am not here to return you to your past. I am here for what you need now,” sighed Mithrein. 

“Child, what could you give me…”

“I am no child, Maiev Shadowsong,” the hunter roared. “I am scarce a century younger than you. I was a mere child when they broke the world and a mere child when you took the soldiers into the darkness to ensnare Illidan, but I have not been a child since the Sundering.” She caught herself and regained control. “I spent ten thousand years patrolling our lands, driving off the Highborne, the remnants of the Legion, and the maddened armies of the Qiraji.” She looked up and away. 

“I have given up more than I will burden you with. I have suffered more than I will explain to you. Suffice it to say I know the lack and emptiness that can build when a life is put aside in the pursuit of duty. There is right, and there is wrong, and there are the spaces in between you do not acknowledge. These, I must do. It is my calling.”

“To…make love to me,” said Maiev, rolling the words with distaste in her mouth. “If I wanted that, I could go back to the druids and ask that little slip of a girl to sate my needs.”

The hunter huffed and snorted. “The power of the orgasm would be like a raindrop against a boulder where you are concerned.” She looked up again. “But there are other things I can do. I can take away the leadership and power you wear as easily as armor. But there is relief when you take off the plate and put the armor down for the night, yes?” 

Maiev did not answer. Her body felt lighter in the chain armor and she missed the heft of the pauldrons as much as she enjoyed her freedom. Her protection often left her tired and sore.

“Naisha told me, after many gulps of wine, what she would do in that darkness. Not just sex, though she said it was blindingly good. How you would allow her to take away the burdens of command and free you in that place.” 

“No,” said Maiev, covering her face with her hands. “No, she would not say these things.”

Hands on her wrists tugged them away from her eyes. Sad, ancient eyes looked through her. “Yes, she would. She knew her death was close at hand. She knew enough of your obsession with Illidan to know where it would take you and what it would cost you.” The hunter drew Maiev close once more. “She loved you enough to sacrifice herself and enough to give you what you needed. Then, through her body. Now, through me.”


	4. The Pain that Heals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev is Warden, guardian, strength and dominance embodied. But even the strongest may rest and even the most sadistic may require more. 
> 
> Trigger warning for Maiev beating Illidan (no worse than in game) and hard but consensual BDSM. A chapter summary will appear at the bottom.

Naisha had overcome Maiev’s resistance to physicality and their coupling was frequent and intense. Yet Maiev never felt truly sated, pushing her lover away afterward to linger alone in the darkness. Naisha rarely betrayed her frustrations and treated her mistress with utmost respect in their private quarters. Naisha slept in her own edge of the cavern and turned none away who might ask for her company. Maiev heard the whispers among her charges of the things Naisha supposedly did with her sisters in the dark. Tyrande had chosen the disposition of this priestess well, who could heal with words, prayers, and affection. 

But there came a day when Maiev returned from Illidan panting and sore. He had taken her beating less well than usual, cowering and screaming as her lash cut through him. She had swung harder and his howls increased in volume, but it gave her no enjoyment. She tired of his insolence and threw the whip down outside his prison, letting the magic of the cage heal his wounds while the weapon lay harmless outside of his reach.

She dragged Naisha to her chambers, bid her seal the doors, and ripped her own clothing off. 

“Take me,” she commanded. Naisha did as told, pushing Maiev into the bed, sinking her fangs into Maiev’s shoulder, and raking her claws down her back. Maiev emitted a strangled cry as the pain lanced into her body, but she clung tighter as her partner shredded her skin. Thin rivulets of blood twisted around Naisha’s fingers and spattered Maiev’s body with every movement. Maiev ground herself into Naisha’s legs and moaned as the sensations continued. 

Naisha relaxed and brought her mouth next to Maiev’s ear, her voice hard and low. “I will hurt you,” she said. “If that is what you need right now. If more than pleasure that will bring you a resolution.”

Maiev lay still and moved so she could regard her lover. Games they had played where Maiev was captor to Naisha were done with a smile. This face was a mask as unblinking as a Warden’s helm. Maiev, to her eternal surprise, responded, “Do so.”

Naisha dismounted, dressed, and left the room. Maiev rolled over and felt the stickiness of the blood clinging to the sheets, the soft burn where the cuts complained against her movement. She wondered how Naisha would proceed or how she had been inspired. Those thoughts were banished at the sound of bells. 

She carried a thorn-whip, made of bear’s hide and studded with enchanted thorium, designed to lacerate the flesh and draw the magic from the body of the victim. The Watchers had designed it for trapping demons but Maiev also took it for her sessions with Illidan. The whip was the only one Illidan feared. She could not see the look in his blindfolded eyes when she brought it to his cage, but she could hear the quickened shift in his breathing when he heard the tinkling of the chained edges, watch him tense as she opened the cage. She used it sparingly, only if she wanted to inflict true punishment, only if there were an occasion to destroy him so. Otherwise, it remained in the Warden’s arsenal.

Naisha took the whip, presented it to Maiev, and bowed. Maiev closed her eyes, looked away, nodded. Warden’s manacles were affixed to both wrists and driven with a bolt of arcane energy into the ceiling above. Two similar attached to the floor below. She stood restrained in the darkness and received the leather gag that Naisha placed between her teeth. 

The first crack was a bolt of lightning against her back and Maiev screamed into the gag, biting down hard enough to taste blood. The second crossed the initial strike and brought the feeling of being ripped asunder by claws digging into her spine. The third carved a chasm between her shoulders, the fourth wrapped around to score her just beneath her ribs. She stopped having the mental presence to count after that. There was no Maiev, no Illidan, no Naisha, no war, no revenge. Words that could have formed to beg Naisha to stop were impossible to Maiev. She had no such vocabulary of surrender before this moment and now the pain abolished any other language. There was no crescendo or plateau, no alteration or deviation. Every strike took her apart evenly. 

The pull and rake of the whip was endless. Her warrior’s will kept her from submitting to unconsciousness though she wished with every passing second she could have that reprieve. She tried to center within the pain but was thrown off balance by the ferocity and intensity. She descended into a world of agony that blinded her to anything but the need to have it stop. Her world was torture. That was all she had left.

When the lash stopped coming down, the room was speckled with flecks of blood and flesh. Her back, flayed and oozing, was raw almost down to the muscle. Naisha put the whip aside silently. She took a salve and applied it, moon’s magic beginning to mend the skin and dull the pain. Naisha unclipped the manacles and took Maiev’s full weight into her arms, putting her onto the bed and carefully keeping her from laying on her back. Then Naisha pressed herself against Maiev’s front and stroked the sides of her face, wiped away the tears and sweat with a wet cloth, cleaned the blood from her hair. Held her, silently, and waited.

Long after the pain had disappeared, Maiev remained silent, poured out and empty, in Naisha’s arms. That night, she asked Naisha to stay with her. They did not make love. They did not need to. In the morning, Naisha slipped away to begin the morning rituals while Maiev remained in bed. For the first time in hundreds, maybe thousands, of years, she felt at peace. 

“We never spoke of it as such,” said Maiev. “We had no discussion. No…formal arrangement. She understood what I required. I assented to what she gave.” She tore the words out of herself unwillingly, with effort. 

“She knew even you have your limits, Maiev. She gave you what you needed. A moment of rest, a moment of quiet. Some time when you are not the Warden and not the mistress. Pain so you could remember you did not always have control. Pleasure to restore it.” 

Maiev looked at the green-haired woman in front of her. Nothing like her Naisha except in skin color but speaking of Maiev’s needs as easily as her love once had. 

“And Naisha told you that if you should come upon me, you should give me the same reprieve?”

“If you allowed me. I am not Naisha. I could never pretend to become what she was for you. But I could act in the same capacity, as I have for the women I have loved. This she asked of me and this is what I offer to you.”

Maiev turned away, curled up into the blankets, and refused to speak. Minutes passed. The hunter got up, redressed herself, and told Maiev, “I will return in the morning. Rest.”

Maiev made no reply. The sound of the hunter’s chain clinking as she retreated up the cave’s entrance ended their conversation, leaving Maiev alone in the confines of the cavern. She lay down and squeezed her eyes shut. The betrayal of her confidence stung as much as any lash Naisha had ever applied to her back. She could imagine them on the rail of the boat, giggling at the moaning and sobbing Maiev would produce whenever Naisha allowed her fullest self to rain down on Maiev. 

No, that did not sound like Naisha in the least. She loved Maiev too much to violate her trust. She had said as much. Naisha had silenced any gossip about their relationship with a strong rebuke and always made her way to Maiev’s quarters when none could have seen her move in the dark. Maiev had to be invulnerable and untouchable or the Wardens would not have followed her so blindly. To have opened herself to Mithrahein in this way must have represented an act of desperation. 

From beneath her clothes, Maiev reached out a finger and traced it under her collarbone to where the patch of ink still lay. She had wished to cut it off a thousand times. After Tyrande’s attack, Naisha had almost relented and brought the blade to Maiev, placed it on the skin beside the tattoo, and pressed it in. A thin line of blood journeyed down the cut and onto Naisha’s fingers as Maiev pushed forward, anxious to have the tattoo finally removed. At the last moment, Naisha had pulled away, unable to complete the task. She forbade Maiev to perform the duty herself and Maiev obeyed, even to this day.

It was the last time Naisha had given her pain. There had been no time for anything else after Maiev’s return to Tyrande’s ruin. Burning and wrecked halls, empty save for the corpses of her watchers, had been what greeted Maiev that terrible night. Horror and disbelief had accompanied her every step as she called for her Watchers and none replied. She reached Illidan’s cage, saw it empty, saw the guards in front of it slaughtered with what she knew to be elven arrows, and wondered at what had transpired. A bloodied Watcher eventually found her way to Maiev’s feet and the two of them scoured halls for any remaining survivors.

Naisha had barred herself and a few of the younger Wardens into one of the armories. Maiev’s relief at seeing her beloved alive had been overshadowed by her outrage at their cowardice. She would hear no logic in their decision to retreat in the face of an overwhelming force. She lashed out at them, physically and verbally, halting only when Naisha’s tears bade her stop. Disgusted at them as much as herself, she stormed off. They left for the Broken Isles the next day.

There had been no time to grieve any of the losses during that trip. She pushed them as hard as she dared across the land and commandeered the vessels without a thought when they reached the sea. Mithrahein’s band of soldiers had been eager to join, or perhaps that was her own anxiousness clouding the memory, and she found them good allies in their pursuit of Illidan. She remembered Naisha being sick or at least not spending time with Maiev below decks where she scowled and strategized.

Maiev had been, in retrospect, unkind to Naisha. Her friends died at the hands of her beloved mentor and the woman Naisha loved more than the moon and stars was too focused on her obsession to comfort her. Maiev’s thoughts were consumed with Illidan, where he would be, what he would be doing, what she would do once she finally could exact her revenge. She plotted against him and the Naga, against Tyrande and her sentinels, against the Kaldorei people for allowing such an act.

Had they made love on the ship? Maiev buried herself further into the cushions. Maiev would like to believe she would have extended that courtesy and comfort to Naisha. She would like to believe that Maiev spent a few hours of those many weeks journey adoring her beloved’s body and administering pleasure to soothe the hurt. Maybe there had been a few shared hours in the dark when Maiev and Naisha mourned for all they lost. Just as likely Maiev had ruminated on Illidan and ignored Naisha every night until Maiev lost her in the darkness.

She grieved publicly for her dead Watchers and made their names her battle cry against Illidan. Privately, she took the agony and placed it within a stone cairn as impenetrable as the grave that held Naisha. She never trusted herself to touch the breadth of the loss because she knew there would be no one to bring her back once she dove into the memories. It was easier and safer to be numb than to contemplate that depth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naisha acted as Maiev's dominant from time to time, using pain instead of pleasure to help Maiev relax. Maiev grieves for Naisha and realizes how much she neglected her when chasing Illidan.


	5. Consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev makes peace with Naisha's choice of partner and allows herself to engage in the pleasures she so desperately needs.

Sleep overtook her and she spent a restless night evading dreams until she stumbled into the morning. The hunter had returned and was carefully stripping down some leather as she watched her guest awaken. Provisions had already been set out for Maiev and she ate, watching Mitha’s hands work the flesh from the hide and throw tiny scraps of the viscera into the fire after every pull, filling the cavern with the smell of cooking meat. 

“How did she come to trust you,” Maiev asked.

Mitha stretched back. “I think it was because I was not of your conclave. Her duties to them as priestess and companion kept her from divulging the turmoil beneath the armor. I was there. I listened to the things that were less important than you.” Mitha smiled briefly. “I even made a pass at her once that she politely declined. We both knew it was more of boredom and sport than desire for physicality. I told her I had someone else, someone I loved.” She tilted towards Maiev. “Eventually, she told me she had the same. Yours was the only name I could think of that would make her love a confession rather than a statement.”

“But it was after we landed on Izul’Shara that she told me what you two actually shared. You were so mad with revenge and consumed with desire for vengeance that you barely could see. It terrified her to think you might lose control and lose everything. When you came back after one foray completely alone, having left with two dozen soldiers, she knew her time was at an end. She told me everything because she knew she would be left.”

“I sought after you. I did. But my life was suffering and our paths did not cross. When I heard of your attempt to assassinate Malfurion, I regretted not having tried to find you sooner. Perhaps if I could have followed through on her desires, you would have been more sane.”

“That was…the work of corruption,” said Maiev, springing to her own and the hunter’s defense. “My hatred of Malfurion notwithstanding, I would not have tortured him as I did his brother.” She shook her head. “It is hard to describe what it is like to see your mind as not your own, to not recognize your thoughts as time passes. I will atone for those sins in time.”

“Then perhaps I am not too late,” she said. “When one of my hunters spoke of your release, I made my way to your brother, whose frustration with your progress sent you that elf-girl. I assured him that I was the best choice. And I still think I am.” 

Maiev sought answers in the smoke, tried to craft the response that would bring about simple solutions. She found none, so she chose the harsher. 

“Naisha took decades to offer herself to me. Here, two days after we meet, you expect me to disrobe so you may screw me until my heart and mind heal.”

Mithrehin looked at Maiev with soft sadness. “Maiev…what do you have to lose?”

The opening kiss was gentle, unexpected. Maiev thought to shrink away but the woman was too strong and too correct. She encircled Maiev’s waist with a strong arm.

“You have three choices, Warden. The first is I return you to the surface and we ride you back to the druids, never speaking of this again. The second is you throw me out to hunt with Rexxar, taking my home for your own until you recuperate.” The soldier leaned forward. “The third is you let me give you what Naisha gave you, what I want to give you.”

Maiev allowed herself to be undressed with calloused hands and bow-roughened fingertips. She relinquished shame and fear with slow, ragged, breaths. She focused someone touching her body without the goal of harm for the first time since she had abandoned her love beneath the earth. She winced when the fingers drew along her chest, soft and careful not to tear the healing scars. It was not pain or casual fumbling that made her gasp. It was the acknowledgment of her skin and the desire she suppressed. She was not being exploited or destroyed. She was being adored.

The goal was to make her beg, she reasoned, and she must resist. She had learned long before, watching her prisoners break over and over, that begging was something that did nothing but give pleasure to the torturer. Had it been pain, resisting would have been trivial. 

But with this sensation, her resolve splintered as easily as the haft of a spear shattered against a rock. Before she could stop herself, she melted open and allowed herself to be pinned to the ground. When a mouth enveloped one nipple, she arched up and let loose ragged cry of need that reverberated for a moment before being consumed by the fabrics, silencing the signs of her desire, her openness once more. 

The voice whispered, growled in one ear. “No one can hear you, Maiev. The rocks and trees have no interest, the other hunter and animals do not care. Do not hold yourself together for their sake. Release yourself.”

Maiev shook her head yes, beginning to sink into her pleasure. She tried to fight against it, pushed it to the edges of her mind, tried to focus on the indignity of having physical needs. 

The hunter bore her weight down and her hands dived between Maiev’s legs, the reaction instant and consuming. Maiev felt shame spread over her face even as she felt the wetness well up within her. Where was the control of her reactions she had maintained in her imprisonment? Could she not tamp down desire as easily as screams of agony? Perhaps the hunter had anticipated the motion Maiev made to close her legs again.

“No, Maiev,” said Mitha. “No escape from this. You are held here, captive to your need and my power. You cannot flee from this place. You must let go before you can be released.” The words shot through the Maiev, who tensed her muscles against her partner. “I will give you what you need. You will beg, I will accede, and no one will be the wiser. Be free in your body, yourself. No more hiding.”

The warden opened eyes she had not realized were clenched shut and gazed at the woman above her. Mitha shone red with pulsing energy, the fangs of their race somehow sharper in the candlelight. The warden felt the fury and training of an ancient warrior as powerful as Maiev herself and for the first time in many years, she was afraid. 

And with a moment of bravery, Maiev let the begging she held inside emit from her lips. 

“Please,” she said, barely above a whisper, quiet enough that the breath she let out with the word was louder than the syllable

She gripped the soldier with bared nails, releasing all she had. Crying, she confessed her weakness to her captor. She would have begged if it meant the ghosts’ tortures had stopped. She would have begged had it meant her Watchers would have lived. She would have begged if it meant she could spend one more night with Naisha. She would have begged if it meant she had not wasted 10,000 agonizing years in the darkness. She would have begged if it would have made any difference at all.

Here, she broke. The hands on her, the mouth on her, the touch that found every place the demons had burned and the undead had cut. Arms that gripped her in place so she could fight the pleasure and pain. Hands that held her down without imprisoning her. Weight that kept her without crushing her. A voice that urged her on to the depths of pleasure and acceptance. 

At last, she was out of tears and her lover placed her down on the bedroll, wrapping her in blankets and clasping her tightly. She felt, for the first time in an eternity, safe. Whole. There was no need and duty here, just two women beneath the earth.

The hunter did not speak, but occasionally ran her thumb over Maiev’s knuckles and steadied her own breath against Maiev’s neck. As the warden drifted up from the depths, she became more aware of the woman beside her, and started to ask, “If you-“

“Not today, Maiev,” responded the woman quietly. “And not from you. You are not ready for that step yet. There is more healing to be done, more comfort to be given.”

Six nights they spent in the cave, reexploring the depths of desire Maiev had locked since Naisha’s death. Time was that Maiev would have welcomed the velvet rip of a bullwhip against her flesh. Too many hours spent undergoing acts of endless pain, empty of the love Naisha would have coupled with every stroke, had left her no taste for it any longer. A single slap of the hunter’s hand had confirmed this and it had taken many minutes for her to reassure Maiev that such a sensation would not be administered again. The Warden cursed her frailty and the hunter turned it aside. 

“No one will judge you harder than yourself, Maiev, and none would say you are weak.”

Maiev tried to reciprocate but the hunter refused. An ancient love had scarred her heart and her flesh, while desirous, had no wish for any touch but that. Maiev had to content herself with being the recipient, over and over. They did speak of the hunter’s life, one long and tortured. Regret, love, children and a home, nearly ten thousand years of constant fighting that this war was no exception to. Naisha had chosen her champion well and Maiev was glad for it.


	6. Within the Forests of Aszuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mithrein is called to free Xavius, abandoning Maiev in the cave to rest. Instead, Maiev ventures aboveground, wherein she meets a self-insert character who sort of helps the plot. Also, a sex scene with Illidan is in this one. It's short. Sorry. :/

One night, a soft and spotted owl flitted its way through the caves and hooted its presence as it settled on one of the cushions. The hunter reached out and patted the feathers with a half-smile lingering on dark lips. “It would seem I am summoned,” she said. “And that Rexxar is smart enough not to interrupt.” She unfurled a patch of parchment from the creature’s bent leg and read it, her face creasing into a frown.

She looked to Maiev. “Shan’do Stormrage has been freed from the clutches of Xavius and the way is cleared to destroy the Nightmare. My companions ask the presence of the Huntmaster and I must obey.”

Maiev wrapped herself in her shawl. “Of course,” she said firmly. “I will accompany you. His capture is as much my duty as it is yours.”

“No, Warden, it cannot be. A week of lovemaking and dominance has not rendered you fit for battle. You are the solidary stalker, the blade in the night. I surround myself with allies who I must support and defend in equal measure. I will not take you to the Nightmare. I will not even take you to your Wardens.”

Maiev set her jaw. “Then what am I to do? Linger beneath the caves like an elven housewife?”

The hunter laughed. “You would sooner die here, I know. Go. Hunt in these woods. Hone your blade on simple creatures and perhaps I will return your glaive to you.”

Maiev watched the hunter retreat and snarled in frustration, circling their encampment beneath the ground. She could escape. She was a two-day’s ride from the druid encampment, which for Maiev was merely three or four days on foot. She could still join the ranks of the Wardens and lead them to retake the Vault, purge the islands of the demonic infestations. She heard of Suramar and the return of their people. Though she harbored no interest in their magical abomination, that city too could be cleansed of its taint.

She sat down again and began to put on the borrowed armor, rooting around in the pack for any weapon and found two short swords. The hunter preferred her bow of course but a blade was best for close work or for exactly information. They were well-balanced and fit neatly into Maiev’s hands. She packed quickly, putting together enough supplies for a several day’s journey. 

When she reached the mouth of the cave, she looked for the path and found none. Whatever route they had taken to the cave had been obliterated by the hunter and her companion. The unseen path indeed. Maiev scowled. She would need to track her way back to civilization, delaying her journey beyond the few days of supplies she had been left. Maiev could either hunt and content herself near the cave or begin a trek that would have her pathfinding in a forest so dense she could barely ascertain north from south. This had been the hunter’s intent, she was sure.

“Fine,” Maiev said to the spirit of her captor, “I won’t return to the druid camp. But I won’t sit here tracking moonrunners for meat.”

She breathed in and found a hint of sulfur on the wind, then pursued the smell until it became overwhelming and lit the trees with green fire. With a grin she couldn’t repress, she swung herself into the fray, using the borrowed blade to cleave the head of an imp nearly in twain and severed a second imp’s leg from his scrawny body. A squawk of pain from the tiny creature alerted his fellows and soon the demon encampment was barreling down on her. She judged her position – their portal to the nether was several paces farther. Reinforcements were unlikely. Yet she was still injured and could not trust her stamina. By her calculation, she should kill no more than a dozen and then retreat. With the forest this dense, she could easily blanket herself in shadows and dissolve back into the treeline.

The wonderful sensation of a blade carving through demonflesh brought back memories of many hours of hunting and capturing those who would threaten their people. Her recent torture made the experience even more delightful. She was fatiguing quickly but the cave was nearby. She could rest and recuperate in the dark, then return at her leisure for another round of training.

She heard two strangled cries behind her that turned the demons’ heads. A massive crusher dropped to its knees onto a lesser demon who lay unmoving beside him. Three more demons besides them blinked and exploded in a burst of fire. The demons pursuing Maiev split, half the group running back to their fellows, the other half bearing down on her. Maiev dispatched this lesser band of attackers easily and ran forward to where an unseen assailant was chopping through their ranks with terrifying ease.

The “snick” of a released arrow was all she heard before the succubus she began to fight was sliced in two. The marksman, wherever he was, had a fantastic vantage point and exceptional aim to do this damage at range. Maiev found herself mentally competing to and past the point of exhaustion. By the end of her one-sided contest with this unknown shooter, the whole camp was cleared and the looming portal stood pulsing and angry-green in front of her.

Her body ached as she approached the demonic construction and looked at the runes. She found the keystone and shattered it with effort, snapping its connection to the Nether. The energy dissolved in a bang, leaving her in relative darkness. 

Maiev sagged against the inert stone. She was tired in ways that belied her centuries of experience. Something about the demon’s tortures had drained more than just her strength. In some ways, it had sapped her will. Or perhaps that was Mitha’s doing.

The even footfalls of her ally made her stand up straight. Angular and willowy, this elf was also the mistress of a bow. Unlike Mitha, her hair was a riotous midnight blue and her skin a ghostly purple. Her red and green scaled armor was ornamented and adorned to the point that Maiev wondered how she could be concealed in the shadows at all. She eyed Maiev up and down, replacing the massive bow across her back.

“You have a talent for demonslaying, warrior,” she noted dryly. “I am not sure whether to be grateful for the company or annoyed at your ruining my target practice. Luckily for us both, there is another camp of these damned things an hour from here.”

Maiev looked at the woman. “And you, a hunter of such skill…why are you in the woods? The huntmaster said Khadgar had demanded all heroes enter the nightmare. She collected the Path in his name.”

The hunter in front of her smirked. “Well, Khadgar wishes many things. So does the huntmaster. Neither of them gets to dictate where I nock my arrows.” She gestured at Maiev’s blades. “I could ask the same as you. The warrior ranks have been throwing themselves at Xavius for weeks. Now would not be the time for one of their own to be frolicking in the forest.”

Maiev blinked a few times.

“Excuse me,” she asked.

“I thought Odyn had challenged you to all to go die in glorious…glory in the depths of the Nightmare. I don’t pretend to understand it but I’ve met enough of you to know the gist. Champions of Vahalla, destined to fall and be resurrected on the battlefield until you eventually get…sick of it and…okay, I’m not completely certain.”

Realization swam across Maiev’s face. She was not known as a Warden to this hunter. She was merely another blade-carrier laboring against the Legion. Maiev was not inclined to correct the error.

“I am recovering from a grievous injury.” She paused. “Mithrehin has been seeing to my care.”

“Mitha,” the hunter laughed. “Oh, mother moon. She is legendarily protective of her charges. You won’t be seeing any more action than these stragglers until she gives the nod.” She let out a sharp whistle and a curve-horned beast trotted into view. The brightly-colored hunter rifled around in the packs over its back, took out some food, and began to walk with it behind her. She gestured towards Maiev.

“He’s not much for two passengers but I can carry your pack so we can travel more comfortably.”

Maiev glanced about. “Have you no beasts to serve you?”

The elf laughed again. “No, they are not much good for what I do now. When I need them, I call them. Come. We will travel for a while and see what else can be put to death. Oh, and you may call me Tam.”

She moved a little farther. “Or if I want to hear you mangle my birth name, I’ll ask you to call me by that instead. I am sworn to marry the person who can pronounce it correctly and I must say I enjoy being single.” 

“And you may call me…” Maiev pulled a name of a woman who had died beside her in the first war against the Legion. “Nidia.”

Tam grunted and continued walking. Maiev half-stumbled as she caught up with the other elf, who swung out an arm to keep her from falling face-first into the dirt. “I am still recuperating,” she admitted.

“Good. More for me.” The hunter chuckled. “We’ll camp sooner rather than later.”

Maiev fell in easy step with the woman next to her and they moved silently to their next location. As promised, the thicket of demons provided another opportunity for Maiev to test her skills and for her companion to engage in whatever show of archery prowess she desired. She tired long before the bowmistress completed her endeavor and slumped against a tree, frustrated and exhausted.

Tam walked over and gave a smile with a shrug. “Once had my bow hand nearly sliced off by a silithid’s scythe. It took me three months to wield a weapon again. Six months before I could keep up with my band. It’ll come.”

They bedded down a few paces from the destroyed camp, Tam making the fire and laying out food while Maiev tacked wards and incantations about the trees to keep away another push. When she returned, Tam cocked her head.

“Fancy work. You had another career before you went into Odyn’s service. I’d hear about it sometime. Not tonight, though. A healing body needs rest. I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep.”

Maiev lay out her bedroll and rapidly drifted off. This evening, she could not evade the nightmares. In this first true dream she had since her rescue, she was astride Illidan. His manhood filled her and she wrapped her body around him in repulsed ecstasy. Their faces of mirrored horror and shame came together with every thrust. She held him and her skin was burned by his fel fire. She cut him with her blades, trying to sever the wings from his back. This made him snarl and thrust harder, trying to wrench her off his length even as he pulled her back down and buried his cock into her. She rode him despite her disgust, feeling the edge of her orgasm building with every horrid stroke. 

“I love you Maiev,” he spat and gave one more hard push, his heat spilling into her body as her own crest hit. She looked up from their awful embrace to see Naisha standing behind him, tears reflecting the green light that erupted from his wounds. Maiev reached out but Illidan pulled her down onto himself and once again Maiev resumed grinding into him, the immediacy of the pleasure keeping her from escaping.

Something pushed her from the side and they readjusted, Illidan ensuring he remained inside her as she rode faster. Another hit and she nearly toppled off, his nails raking her skin and her knife dropping to the floor. A final hit and she was awake. 

A shelled beast rammed its armored head into her body one more time as she opened her eyes, sweating and aroused. It gave a hiss and snort, then lumbered over to the fire and buried itself into the dirt. A warm hand was on Maiev’s torso, with its owner visible in the flickering light. Tam’s eyes fixed on a distant point in the depths of the forest and her other hand clutched a blade.

Maiev stirred further and Tam looked down, placing the knife beside her on her bedroll. Words that elf might have said to Maiev flickered and fled from her lips. The two women looked at each other longer and the hunter turned away, not removing her hand.

“She has a sense of these things, that beast. Not among the smartest I have ever trained but perceptive in her own way.

Maiev shifted slightly, not trying to wriggle away from her companion’s touch. Her palm was soothing in its heaviness “I thought you traveled alone.”

Tam snorted much like the terrapin. “I prefer to keep watch with many sets of eyes. Her more fleet-footed and keen-nosed sisters surround us.” A lanky leopard came into view, green blood staining a grey muzzle, and nosed her mistress. 

“You drew the Nightmare, Nidia,” sighed the hunter, rubbing Maiev’s body absent mindedly. Maiev managed to keep from sighing in pleasure at the contact. “It ran through the earth and brought horrors in its wake. Your wards held but the force was overwhelming. We fought them until it was safe to wake you.” Tam looked down with warm pity. “I grieve for whatever you must have experienced to make you such a vessel.”

Maiev sat awkwardly and moved Tam’s hand away. “Thank you,” she said. “I should take the next watch.”

“I don’t think so,” said Tam. “I can spare a night’s rest. You cannot. Perhaps we will talk in the morning. Perhaps not. Sleep. It is fine.”

Maiev complied as the hunter walked away. The rest of her night was fitful and dreamless. 

She awoke to the high call of a bird of prey. A griffon circled overhead, and Tam waved once. The bird swooped down and deposited its cargo, a tall blue Eredar-kin who bowed and sauntered over to Tam. She gave the hunter a quick peck on both cheeks, which Tam accepted with consternation. The hunter bent forth and whispered quickly in the ear of the draenei, then both stared at Maiev. She flushed in annoyance as the draenei nodded and walked over.

“Come here,” she said in the thick accent that none had lost in spite of their years on Azeroth. “Let me look at you.”

She pulled Maiev’s head up and looked into her eyes, tilted her body back and forth. Maiev bristled but complied nonetheless. 

“Hold still,” came the command, and then a surge of power lit Maiev’s body from the ground. Warmth, not unfamiliar, ran across her body and for a moment she felt as if she were floating in the ocean, the rush of water swirling around her head. The sensations dimmed and the draenei stepped away.

“No curse. Just ancient wounds. Psychic. There is no magic that can begin to untangle this mess. Just time and talking, neither of which I care for.” She ignored Maiev’s affront and Tam’s chuckle while she rooted around in a pouch, cursing in her native tongue. She pulled out a cluster of vials, slapping them into Maiev’s palm with a wide hand. “Dreamsbane,” she explained. “Take it when you are away from a safe place. It will keep away the Nightmare and you will remember none of which you dream.” She shook her horned head with derisive sadness. “Other than that, you are beyond my assistance, elf.”

She walked back towards her mount, Tam following alongside. “Goodbye,” she said. Then a word came out that made Tam wince and Maiev gathered it was her name, mispronounced. Maiev understood at that moment why Tam preferred the short, non-elven moniker. Whomever named her had a cruel sense of humor.

Maiev learned a few things about her companion while they slaughtered their way through the demon encampments. One, she was very young – under a century, perhaps on the order of decades. Her pale skin and tripping tongue marked someone born far after the Sundering. Two, she was a methodical killer who hunted their prey for sport. Three, that despite the above two, she tired of warfare and isolated herself by choice. The smirk of satisfaction she wore whenever she obliterated a foe never lasted beyond the battle. At the end she was restless, frustrated. 

The Warden recognized it well. She often felt that after her hunts above the earth, dragging down demons, fallen elves, and all manner of monsters into their carven halls. She felt only satisfaction when she first slammed them into the cells. Crafting their personal prisons, ice for the fire-touched, emptiness for those who drew light, gave her pleasure both at their completion and their utilization. Yet within minutes of watching them suffer, watching them solidify, or watching them lose hope, she would feel a familiar itching at the base of her mind.

“So what,” it whispered. “What does it matter, one more captive? Evil remains unleashed upon the world.”

On the best nights, she could satisfy herself with Naisha. On the worst, Illidan became her target. Inasmuch as she beat him to cleanse his sin, she felt the flaying pull away the levels of discontent. He renewed her with his pain. With revulsion she understood Mitha’s insult, that she loved Illidan as much as she hated him.

He had been comely before his fall but her focus was Elune, always the rites, always the success she could wrest from the moon’s guidance. His lust for Tyrande was another reason to despise them both. Unseemly in its obviousness, inappropriate in its direction, and unwelcome in its attention. Was that why she kept him almost naked within her halls? She swallowed the comments. It sickened her but the dreams of him came nonetheless.

They were always of their coupling. Rancid and raunchy, she would feel his girth and his fire. She would be taken as she took Naisha, through orifices she left untouched. She would serve him, submit to him. That was always how it was within the dreams. She had hinted onceto Naisha the nature of these dreams. A ward against the nightmare was all she received. The dreams were held apart when Naisha was present. They would encompass her again when she was aboveground.

Her companion ignored Maiev’s thoughts and instead pulled them into another clearing. The demons therein were sparse but the hunter felt something, knew something. She hissed a word in that sharp northern accent and spat a sigh.

“Come out. We know you cannot hide,” she called with reverberating exaggeration. Mithrehin walked forward, her beasts slipping into view. 

The two elven women gazed at each other. Mithrehin rested her hand lightly on the cat at her side, while Tam had placed the edge of the bow in the earth.

“Mitha.”

“Tamarine.”

“Choosing one of the old names, are we today, Huntmaster? I must truly have bothered you for you to call me so.” Maiev recognized the bait. Mitha was in no mood to take it.

“You have someone who belongs to me.”

“Well, you should not have left her behind. She is a miraculous warrior. Can we steal her from Odyn? The spirits can show her the ways of the spear and she will se-“

“You truly do not recognize the legendary Warden Shadowsong?”

Tamarine turned and appraised Maiev cautiously. “It seems I do not. Well then, this is why our demonswork was so swift. Your deeds are legendary, Warden.” 

Maiev waited for more conversation, an indictment, a snide comment accusing Maiev of treason or betrayal. Tamarine shrugged and turned back to the huntmaster, disinterested in the agonizing history that stood before her.

“She belongs in my care,” stated Mitha. 

“Oh I disagree. Her body mends with every strike of the sword. Her spirit rises at the coming of the task and its grim completion. We are alike, her and I. You have no need of reckless killing.”

“Yes, and that is why you are not what she needs. She requires more than just a mended body.” Maiev tensed and swallowed. Mitha did not seem one to betray casually but even the most careful-tongued could spit fire when confronted. “She requires healing of the soul, Tam. Of the spirit, of the heart, of the past and its terrible future. Of things we will not speak but you know that I have seen…”

“And I shadow the wind, chase the arrow in flight, wade through the oceans of blood. No peace in my heart, no pity and no fear, and the nothingness to which I return. I know.” Tamarine be looked at the two elder elves and lifted her bow back across her shoulders as she finished the pronouncement. 

“Better with you than me if the depth of the wound is that great.”

Once more the two hunters stared at one another. Tam crossed one hand across her chest and bowed without mockery. “I must return to the forest. I will continue to watch this land while we move the fight across the isles.” She nodded towards Maiev. “You are welcome at my side should you find me. My hunt, as is yours, is endless.”

“You will not come to the Nighthold to lead the charge?”

“We know those days are long past, Mitha. I am done fighting wars. I will protect the land. That is all.” 

“Ande’thoras-ethil,” replied Mitha. Then she whispered a word, an amalgam of syllables that fell into each other like colliding rocks, and Tam smiled. 

“To you as well, old friend.” She mounted and gave one look back. “You do know every time you call me that you risk a marriage proposal. All three of us know how well that will go.” She vanished in a flicker of white fur.

Maiev turned towards Mitha, who smiled fondly. “It means ‘Beloved of the Queen’. And before you ask, yes. THAT queen. Azshara.”

“She’s far too young to have been alive during Her reign.” Maiev recalled the wonderous, horrifying face of the woman who led them to ruin.

“Yes, but not her mother. She is of Highborne lineage, raised within Eldre’thelas among the fallen mages. She was not born with the gift and as such had no patience for either reverence for Azshara or quiet contemplation.” She chuckled. “Showed up in Feathermoon Village when she was barely an adult and cut her way from Darnassus to the Badlands without stopping.”

“Tam?”

“It is a borrowed name, the one she gave me when we first met on the battlefield. She saved me from a terrible demon, dragged me to the edge of the desert and guarded me until I was safe enough to move.” The fondness went hard. “She did a lot of killing for me. More than she should have. Eventually she vanished. I’d find the marks of her wrath everywhere I fought and when we came together again, she sworn away our people. I command her because she allows it, but only just.” 

“Yet you pronounce her name effortlessly…”

“I was there when the language was crafted. You would know it if we traveled together in that ancient time. But we did not.”

Again they were within the cave. Again, Maiev plunged into her pleasure and used it to mend all the places where she had lost her love, lost herself, lost a past and future in moon’s grace and felfire. Time passed strangely with Mitha, days and nights meaningless within the walls. It was like being a Warden again, confined underground with no needs to drive to the world above.

The summons came again, urgent from the Unseen Path. It was not a letter this time. A clanging of spear on rock and a shout in an ancient tongue.

“Huntmaster. Attend to us. We must go to the Nighthold.”

A cloak of inky darkness surrounded Maiev and the huntmaster stood, blocking Maiev’s view of the door as their guest arrived. In turn, Maiev willed herself into the shadows. Their visitor would need sight far beyond sight to detect her.

A Nightborne holding a shining glaive gazed with righteous consternation at her leader.

“You hid your path too well, huntmaster. Well enough that I wonder what craft you must conceal from your followers.”

“You have no right or standing to question me, Syrenne. I have not forsaken my duties nor have I shirked the ways of the Path. I am found. I will come with you.” Mitha took two steps forward. “Now leave.”

Syrenne flicked her eyes above the cavern, searching for the reason for the huntmaster’s absence. Then she left.

“Maiev…” whispered Mitha. “I must leave. The Path requires me. Tyrande has assembled her army. I must ride with her.” She sat down and shook away the shadows. “I do not know if and how I will return. The Nighthold is well fortified and dark magics within threaten to overwhelm even me.” Maiev ran the back of her hand along Mitha’s face but did not reply. “I will return, as I can. If not, Tamarine runs these wilds. She will bring you home should you stay lost.”

With that, Mitha stood. She took no provisions, handled no chain, neither shined her armor nor sharpened her arrows. She merely left, knowing what she needed for this battle would be above the ground.

Maiev watched her leave and sat for many uncomfortable minutes. She ran the whetstone over her glaive. She readjusted her bladed cape. She felt her muscles, noted their clean healing, their easy movement. She looked up at the carven path and knew she could return to slaying demons when the mood motivated her. She might find Tam among the trees. She might kill alone. She had no lack of options.

Maiev remained underground. 

Sooner than expected, the hunter returned in battered and unfamiliar armor. A scorch mark, early in its healing, extended from her shoulder to her fingertips. She had ridden here in haste, evading the healers to come to Maiev’s side. She wore a regretful, empty expression and spoke to Maiev without looking at her face.

“Illidan has been raised from the dead, his soul restored from Helheim by the power of Khadgar. With him comes the key to the tomb of Sargeras,” she sighed. “You have been requested by name, Maiev.”

“By whom,” Maiev demanded, standing to face her companion, though she suspected she knew the answer.

“By Illidan himself, of course,” said the green-haired woman. “He states every elf of skill must be present in this siege. There are demons to slay and the blades of the best warriors must be turned against them.” 

“And I am the best,” said Maiev simply. She rose and gestured her hands outwards. “The time has come for me to return to the Watchers.”

The hunter closed her eyes tightly. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she said softly. “I wish you would stay with me, avoid the fight a little longer.” She opened them with the beads of tears. “When you become the Warden once more, you will begin to suffer again. I do not have enough time with you to ensure you are not lost again, Maiev.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a healing salve and bandages, sat down, and began wrapping them around her arm. “I am not foolish enough to stop you.”

Maiev looked down at the huntress and back towards the mouth of the cave. “They will gather in Dalaran,” she said, “but their assault will be on the Broken Shore. The Wardens will collect there. I will go to the encampment.” The hunter did not look up as she spoke.

“Your armor and weapon are waiting above, as is a saber that will take you to a hippogriff. I have sent word of your coming to Watcher Moonwarden. She is excited to see her mistress once again.”

Maiev smiled at the thought of that word. “I am sure she is.” Maiev dropped to one knee and interrupted the hunter’s application of first aid. She administered a deep and swift kiss.

“I do not know what the outcome will be but…thank you. Thank you for a moment of peace before the hell I know is coming.”

As the words left her mouth, a chill retook her heart. She could only dread what she would find on those shores. To fight alongside Illidan, knowing what she knew of his evil, was repulsive. Yet he was that natural leader, which was what made him so dangerous. He was still her charge. He would think to stray from beyond their shared mission and she must be there to prevent him from taking liberties. She must be there to venture into the Tomb of Sargeras to put right what had gone wrong fifteen years before.


	7. The Scars of the Tomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev journeys to the Tomb of Sargeras to hunt the demons within. What she finds instead is horror.
> 
> TW for a suicide attempt.

Maiev stood on the cliffs housing the ruins of the Vault of the Wardens. The demons who had infested the surface retreated after the defeat of their leader in the Tomb of Sargeras. The green, bubbling fire and rank evil shrunk away as they departed. Once again, the bare rocky cliffs and scraggly trees alone marked the entrance to her home and prison. She looked at the blue-black water, wondering what monsters still swam in the deeps. Which creatures would consume her body once it fell?

She had at Sargeras’ tomb twice in her ancient life. The first time, it was to chase Illidan. The second time, it was to follow him. The first time, she killed her Watchers and her love, her Naisha, by abandoning them under thousands of tons of crumbling rock. This time, she killed her watchers and her Naisha with her glaive because Sargeras had infested them with his evil. They had become part of his army and were set upon by Azeroth’s heroes as any demons must be. 

Maiev had killed thousands in her ancient life. She had taken up her blade against elves and humans, friends and enemies. She had even fought her closest Watcher, Cordana Felsong, when that woman betrayed them to the Legion. If Maiev believed that her competence with bloodshed would have prepared her to fight her own love, she could not have been more wrong.

The parts of Maiev that knew the light in her love’s eyes was demon fire wielded Maiev’s weapons and thrust her forward among the throngs of heroes. The parts that were a warrior and Warden guided her through the battle to dodge meteors and bolts of lightning. The parts of her that were a woman screamed in anguished revulsion every time she brought her glaive down on Naisha’s flesh. She could not have hesitated when she drew Naisha’s blood with the edge of her glaive but she did not think her own blood could have thundered any louder. Her love, dead amongst the damned, lay crumpled at her feet. Decorum and pride kept her from cradling that beloved form in her arms and weeping. She fled with the rest of the army, leaving Naisha where she fell once more. 

She had caught Illidan’s eye, once. He barely looked at her as they fought through the ancient catacombs and slew the horrors Sargeras had raised for them. She thought he might smirk, satisfaction at forcing her to take Naisha’s life once more, knowing what they had meant to each other. But he instead gave a nod of grim acknowledgment before turning himself back to his task. They had pressed through the dim and hell bound halls until they reached Kil’jaeden. The mighty heroes who had accompanied her led forth their awful charge and pushed him back into the Twisting Nether.

And that was where her journey stopped. The heroes, led by the Archmage Khadgar, the Prophet Velen, and so many others prepared themselves to journey through the nether to the fallen home of the Draenei, Argus. She had heard the whispers of ancient and beloved heroes who still fought there. Alleria. Turalyon. The Light’s Vanguard battling at the seat of the Legion’s power would have fresh blood for the first time in centuries.

But this was not her battle. She had no interest in leaving Azeroth again. Once through the Hellfire Portal had been enough for her lifetime. There was no threat on a foreign world that could not be handled by her Watchers. 

Her job had always been to protect the land from its prisoners. But now those prisoners were no longer enemies and instead were vital allies. The horrors that lurked in the Warden’s halls had been crushed by the heroes so effortlessly that she wondered why she had not called them before. She should have disobeyed the orders of the elves and dispatched the demons rather than sheltered them. But again, it was no matter. Her reason, her life, was done. The hunt was over. Yes, there would always be prisoners and always be justice, but she no longer wanted any part. Vengeance had sustained her for 10,000 years. Now that it was spent, there was no emotion, no quest, no goal to fill the void. She could feel the hollowness crushing in on itself until she could no longer draw breath.

She took her glaive and with a mighty throw heaved it into the ocean. It glided with a whirring metal sound through the air, cutting through the wind before splashing down into the dark waters. Her helm that had so dutifully protected and hidden her for thousands of years was too swung into the ocean. The armor came off and was similarly dispatched below. Creatures attracted to the sound and shine of the metal swam to the surface and swarmed in the black ocean beneath.

She stood, clad only in her shirt and pants, with her long white hair streaming unruly over her shoulders and back. She took in a few deep breaths and let them out again. She’d gone into certain death so many times and emerged only with wounds. She did not hesitate when she jumped forward and began her descent. No more pain, nor fear, nor loss, just the end.

Maiev hit the cliff face hard and howled as her bones snapped against the jagged rocks. She rolled a few more feet, coming to rest on her back, and struggled to breathe, blood pouring out of her mouth and into her lungs from whatever parts of her viscera had been crushed in the fall. Shadow fell over her vision and she understood her death was a failed breath away.

A clawed hand gripped her shoulder hard enough to draw blood and pierce muscle. She was dragged struggling up the cliff face until she was several feet in the air and she closed her eyes as she was pulled still higher. She did not need to open her eyes to know who held her back from her ending. She could smell the fel energy mixed with his natural scent and feel the warmth of the demon fire coursing through his veins.

“Illidan,” she said. In times past she might have spat his name, raged at him, mocked him. But that was no longer her way. “Have you come to torture me?”

“I dreamed of that for 10,000 years, Maiev. I dreamed of all the ways that I would exact my revenge. But I do not have time for that now. My true goal, the defeat of the Burning Legion, lies within my grasp. I do not have time to waste on a single elf, no matter what she has done to me.” He growled and brought her closer. His searing breath brushed across her face and she could feel her skin reddening under its heat.

“Put me in a cave, somewhere,” she replied in a gasp. “Certainly you will have time when this is over. You were spared by our people. You limped away from the Lich King. You were defeated at the Black Temple only to be brought back from the bowels of the fel. I have a hard time believing that the forces who pulled your soul out of Helheim would so easily cast it back. The universe greatly desires your presence.”

“Open your eyes, Maiev,” he commanded. She hesitated, wondering if this was some other game, and realizing that is no longer mattered. She did so, their bodies closer than they had been since the days beneath the earth, and wondered at his face. The Legion power had made him broader, his wings aflame and his skin more scarred. His eyes were the same, though, green fire behind a tattered mask. The expression she had expected, of curled sneer with teeth bared in rage, was merely sadness.

“You freed my Illidari and sacrificed yourself unquestioningly in the face of the Legion’s incursion. You held against the demon’s tortures and brought your blade down on the flesh of your love to save Azeroth. Your debt to me will never be repaid but what you are should not be wasted on the rocks of Aszuna.”

She let out a breath that brought with it tears. “There’s nothing left for me on this planet, Illidan. The huntress is finished with the hunt.”

“Nevertheless.” 

Still grabbing her by her shoulder, his grip tight and shredding, he flew her over Aszuna and swooped into Val’sharah. They came to the Dreamgrove, the sacred home to all druids. By this time, blood loss and vertigo had begun to make her fade from consciousness. She could not protest when Illidan swooped down to the blessed ground and deposited his quarry at the feet of Malfurion Stormrage.

The elder druid rushed forth, flanked by terrified and furious centaurs, dryads, and natural creatures of every form. The two brothers stood off against each other. Malfurion held back his soldiers with a gnarled staff, knowing that Illidan’s death would cause innumerable setbacks against the Legion.

Malfurian pointed to the ground and Maiev’s torn body. “What have you done, Illidan?”

Illidan brought himself off the ground and replied with a dangerously low voice, “I could ask you the same, my brother. You caged her as much as you caged me. Beneath the ground, we were both twisted beyond recognition by your choices. I became a creature at home in felfire and darkness. And she because a creature of hollow vengeance. This is her own doing, not mine.”

The demon hunter rose into the air further. He let his burning eyes draw over the assembly. “Heal her. She has no use for this world any longer but I will not permit her to be cast from it. Perhaps she will find some peace. Peace that will never be granted to me.”

He departed as she descended into unconsciousness.

A dream born from fever and blood loss enveloped her. She was in the caves of the Wardens, in the hunter’s cave, in a tent on a distant shore. She was whole, or as whole she could ever be, would never be. Neither her glaive nor her armor were in reach. She lay in this bed in her dream, Cordana reaching towards her with pale blue fingers and glowing yellow eyes. Cordana had always been beautiful, rapturous even. Every elf in those dark ten thousand years had lusted after her when she walked unarmored through the halls. Maiev too had cast an eye from time to time, but her needs were well-met by Naisha. Regardless, they had been her charges and her prisoners as much as Illidan. It would be a violation to take advantage.

In this dream, Cordana crawled over her body, her breasts dangling low, dark nipples drawing against Maiev’s chest as she reached for blue-skinned woman and pulled her down. The parts of Maiev that demanded the wrongness stop were overwhelmed by the parts of the dream that required an answer of her desire.

“Why, Cordana,” said Maiev. “Why did you turn from us?”

Maiev kissed the fallen Warden, turned her over onto her back and pinned her hands above her. This was the mode more people would comprehend, the commander and not the submissive. She purred her rage and confusion in her lover’s, her enemy’s ear.

“You took so much from us, brought so much destruction. Inasmuch as you saved us through Illidan’s rebirth you ruined this through your betrayal. When did it come?”

“It was always here, Maiev. I had fallen long before I came with you beneath the earth. The Legion had left its touch on me before the Sundering. In the millennia I spent with you, its seed only grew.”

Maiev grabbed the other elf’s breast and drew her claws into it, eliciting a cry of pleasure and pain. “We built the wards to detect that taint. We made sure it looked at every one of us, kept every prisoner in line, and scoured our souls for hints of corruption. There was no way you could have done that.”

“I built those wards, Maiev. I stood beside you when they were carved. You should have known any of us could have been corrupt when we buried ourselves beneath the earth. I was not the only one, of course. Many others bore the Legion’s taint but they died early or lost themselves in madness and cast themselves into the shadow. A few were redeemed, through your efforts of course. Most of us lingered. You must have known all who fought the Legion would have been irrevocably changed. Yourself included.”

Maiev was no longer listening to Cordana’s lies or confessions. She was busying herself with the grey elf’s body. She was diving between her legs and using her mouth to draw open the folds. Soon the other woman was lost in pleasure, grinding herself into Maiev as Maiev withdrew, leaving the woman gasping and begging. Over and over, as was Maiev’s preference, as she had administered to her love when her love was still alive. It was an effective way to break when pain was not in their itinerary.

“No more, my love,” said Naisha. Maiev opened her eyes and crawled back up the body. The skin tone had shifted to a beautiful dusky purple only a shade darker than Maiev’s. Naisha, whole, without the terrible burning that had consumed her within the tombs. She ran her fingers through Maiev’s hair, kissed her, brought her close and let Maiev cry. At last, a few seconds in the arms of her beloved. 

“I have missed you,” whispered Naisha. Her voice went hard. “I missed you when they were torturing me. I waited for you, Maiev. I waited for you to come back and fulfill the promise that you made.”

“I could not, you know that. I had to…” 

“Betray us…?”

Cordana again, panting and soaked from Maiev’s tortures. “You’ve betrayed all of us, Maiev. Long before I ultimately betrayed you. You spit in the face of every watcher when you let Illidan go and even more when you could not complete your suicide. Do the right thing, Maiev.”

“I,” Maiev said. “I…cannot.” Maiev shook her head and resumed her tortures, pinning the woman in place with one hand again and working her fingers to bring the woman to a panicked frenzy.

“Please, Maiev,” begged Cordana. Her words were strained and agonized. “Please release me. Please let me go.”

And then it was Naisha’s voice, bloodied and half crushed, eyes aflame, waiting for Maiev’s glaive to come down. 

“Give me my release, Maiev. I beg you. I have never failed you. Do not f-” Maiev reached for her glaive, now in her hand, now armored, and again in the vaults beneath the earth.

She brought it down and struck stone. In a flash, Illidan had appeared and dragged Naisha away from her. Now Naisha was against the wall, pinned in place by Illidan, her screams muffled by his bulk as he assaulted her. Maiev leapt forward, grabbed his wings and yanked him back. Naisha fell to the floor and balled up as Illidan whirled around and struck at Maiev, claws meeting steel in a shower of sparks and screeching metal. 

“You don’t touch her,” Maiev screamed, slicing wildly with her weapon. “She is mine.”

“I am yours,” he roared back. “She is nothing. You chased me across four continents and two worlds.” He lunged at Maiev, who dodged and put her body between Naisha and Illidan. “You never even gave her a burial.”

With massive leap, he vanished and began running. Naisha reached out towards Maiev, catching only her cape as she turned towards the corridors of stone and Illidan’s escape.

“Please, my love,” begged Naisha. “Please don’t leave me.”

Maiev looked down and willed her legs after Illidan. She chased him, leaving behind the only love of her life. That was all she knew. The blood, the pain, the endless hunt.

And then the warmth, and bursts of green, the sound of trumpets and the hammer of a raging stampede. The dissolving of the tormenting and needful faces into washes of flowers and trees. Grove Keepers and dryads storming forth, larger and more vivid than in the forests of waking, terrifying and true guardians of the Dream. The vision of Cordana flickered and was banished with a wave of a silver-tipped spear. The vision of Illidan melted into the visage of his brother Malfurion, whose hand bore a glowing sphere of light. He walked towards Naisha, fel and beaten, and the light spread gently from his hand, enveloping her. She breathed once, and the evil vanished. Once more, she was the young woman who loved Maiev under the earth. Her smile, grateful and peaceful, lingered for just a moment as she dissolved into the dream.***

Maiev opened her eyes and blinked them to unblur the tears. Unsteadily, she eased herself to sitting, placed her hands on her bent-up knees, and covered her eyes. The dream thundered in her ears but each second it lessened and dimmed until it was a quiet breeze, nothing more.

She became aware of another presence in the room, tall and brooding. Illidan? No, his brother. He cast his own strange shimmering light, mirrored by the thin slips of moonlight, the waning face of Elune peering through the windows of the cottage.

“Are you alright, Warden Shadowsong,” he said softly.

“Just Maiev, Shan’do. I will never be a warden again. No matter how sisters may wish me back, no matter how my brother may be willing, I will never again be the huntress.”

“Are you okay, Maiev,” he corrected himself.

“You know I am not, Shan’do. I am sorry if my cries awakened you.”

He shut the door gently behind him and walked towards the bed. His long feathers brushed the walls and the tip of his antlers scraped the ceiling quietly as he moved to a chair beside Maiev.

“You made no sound, Maiev. But I have walked The Dreaming for so long that I can sense a nightmare even if the dreamer gives no voice. And this place more than any other allows the dreams of others to come forth.”

She breathed out. She wanted to pull the blankets over her head and hide. “You know my secrets, then. And every druid, dryad, and keeper in Val’Sharah, I would think.”

“In all nightmares there is truth and there are lies. It does not matter to me or others their content. The creatures of this place have been wardens of the dream for so long that they will quench any nightmare regardless. You can dream of the destruction of Ysera once more and they would lift you out. Their intrusion was meant only in kindness.” 

“I do not accept pity, Shan’do. I do not need to be saved from the contents of my mind.”

“None would be so presumptuous, Maiev. But none would see you suffer unnecessarily. If my brother saw fit to deliver you out of his hands, I see fit to journey with you and your healing. Not out of pity, but out of obligation.”

“You cannot heal any of what is wrong with me, Malfurian.” She raised her voice slightly. “Your children may mend my wounds but the other damage can never be repaired.”

“I will never try, Maiev. The best Druids know the limits of their power. But neither will I let you suffer in the nightmare. Allow me to give you an alternative.”

He walked towards her and she witnessed his magnificence, his presence is almost a demigod. He reached out his hand and turned it palm up. And though their relationship had been irrevocably destroyed by her betrayal, she took it. He walked her out of the cabin and through the Dreamgrove past the druids and treants who knelt at his approach. He stopped at the mouth of a massive cave and conferred in hushed tones with one of the elven guardians, who looked at Maiev, then nodded and waved them past.

They descended into the twisting barrow dens and Maiev was struck with a moment of recollection. The path resembled too closely the entrance to the Vault, carved with the same hand, modeled by the same architect. Not as stark, though, and very alive. Stone monuments set with wisplight, plants wherever rock would bear them, and the sound of the waterfalls that flowed endlessly in this land of perpetual spring. This was not a prison. This was a home.

He stopped them in front of an alcove lined with pillows and rugs, dismissing the attendant and gesturing for Maiev to sit down. She assented and he knelt before her.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, and placed a hand on her forehead. 

The cave around them dissolved into greenery, walls into trees, floor into grass, mites of dust and specks of wisplight to an ever-glowing sun and tiny whelps who flitted about her head. They gazed at her with a curious eye and dashed away into the forest. She saw before her endless rivers, glowing spirits of druids and other creatures. She felt the eye of Cenarius turn towards her and then away. She was no more remarkable than anything else that might come into the pure heart of the Emerald Dream.

Within the dream, Malfurion towered over her once more, magnified by the innate magic that had spawned this place at Ysera’s behest. His voice filled her mind as a booming command, a proclamation from a demigod.

“This is a place of safety, Maiev. A place of peace. A place for healing. You will never lose the torture you have faced but in this place, it may become a whisper instead of a scream.”

“Nowhere is safe for me, Shan’do. I have no place in this world. That is my curse. The goddess Elune never abandons her children but I have been so far from her light that I do not recognize her power. And I have spent so long beneath the earth that it is as much my home as it is my prison. I may rest among the druids and I may rest among the spiders. Neither will ever bring me peace.”

“Nonetheless, I bid you rest here for a time. The druids will tend to your body as they have for their kin for tens of thousands of years. When you are ready to awake, the world will receive you. Your life will continue as you see fit.”

He bowed to her and vanished from her sight, leaving her alone in the middle of an immense field. Having no other plan, no desire that could be realized, she chose a direction and began to walk. 

\--

Malfurion Stormrage returned to his bedchambers where Tyrande waited. Their sleep had been disturbed, his by the rage of Maiev’s dreams, hers by the grief of her husband. He crawled into their shared bed and lay back, arranging himself so neither antlers nor wings kept him from his wife. She curled close to him and shook her head.

“She is resting now?”

“She is. The Wardens of the Grove banished much of the nightmares from her, but I needed to fend off the last of the taint.” He kissed his wife’s forehead. “She is within the Dream and will remain until she is further healed.”

“As it should be. She has fought long enough.” His wife’s voice held a stern finality. For his part, Malfurion took a more cautious, uncertain tone.

“I sensed a wounded soul, bound to Maiev with rage and regret.”

“A child long lost to Elune’s light,” confirmed the High Priestess. “The Goddess has claimed her. Through your intervention, Her will was complete.”

The couple lay in the darkness. Malfurion brought his wife closer and rested his pointed chin on her forehead. “The soul was…a fragment of one of the Watchers, Tyrande. And not just any…”

“I know, my love,” Tyrande replied in hushed, sorrowful tones. “It may have been cruel to separate them this way, but Naisha will wait for Maiev in the hereafter, not cling to her as a shade of madness. Maiev should not be forced to suffer their final encounter in dreams as she will in waking life. Though she may wish otherwise, she will never dream of Naisha again”

Malfurion contemplated what it would be like to take his staff and drive it through the heart of his beloved. He could not. Tyrande cupped his face with her hand. “It is not wise to dwell on these things, my love. We are not them. We will never be.”

The elder druid drew his hand down Tyrande’s spine, eliciting a purr of contentment. He did not enjoy it. “Did we err, Tyrande, in allowing Illidan to live?”

“His success against the Legion’s return would suggest we did not, my love,” his wife replied. “The price our people paid for him may be worth our success in this war.”

His eyes closed. “If Maiev was a pawn in our game, how are we better than Illidan?”

The darkness gave no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> The dream's pacing and content was inspired by "Give Up The Halfling, She-Elf" from The Lord of the Rings Soundtrack (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX92WyImIY0)
> 
> The brass is mimicking the sound of crashing waves as the river washes away the Nazgul (https://youtu.be/vX92WyImIY0?t=206) but they always sounded like hunting horns to me. A primal calling forth of forces of nature. Anyway, I love that piece, so enjoy.


	8. Within the Emerald Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiev heals within the Dreamgrove and is granted passage into the Dream. There, she meets Elerethe Renferal and I don't know why I decided these two should have sex, but why not? She also learns of Illidan's choice on Argus.

Time passed differently in the Emerald Dream. No hunger or thirst to interrupt activities. No sun or moon to give mark to the days. No fatigue of limb or mind. Maiev did not know how long or how far she walked, only that she moved constantly by choice. Dwellings of the creatures of the dream dotted the landscape and regular feasts took place within them, but she passed them by. She climbed the mountains the Titans never raised and swam rivers they never carved. She found glens of endless flowers and trees that reached to plateaus that reached to still more ancient beings. There was no end to the landscape and she found herself glad for that.

She was still Maiev and still the warden at heart even if she had told Shan’do otherwise. She knew when she was being tracked. At some point a presence, a collection of sounds and twigs, had appeared where she appeared. Most of the dream denizens paid her no mind. Malfurion had likely directed them away from her. This presence, however, had begun to keep a close watch on her. Maiev had no fear of violence – the nightmare was well at bay and the Shan’do’s blessing made her an unattractive target – but it was unnerving nonetheless.

She tracked back until she found an open field beside a small pond, a place with few means of hiding and fewer means of escape for those unaccustomed to quick movement.

“Show yourself,” she called testily. 

A green-furred cat appeared a few yards away and dispelled her shadowy passage, then transformed. The druid in front of Maiev blushed pink and tilted her head downwards.

“Apologies, Warden. I was just…curious.”

Maiev moved closer and appraised her sudden guest. Pale of skin, with hair the color of her fur, willowy in the way newer elves tended to be. Appropriately embarrassed. 

“You know who I am.”

“I know of you,” she replied. “Few non-druids are in the dream and it is remarkable enough for the birds and beasts to chitter their observations. I wanted to meet you.”

Maiev advanced once more and the druid stepped back, darting her head back and forth. Maiev could feel the flickering of magical energy around her. She was prime to shift and disappear, leaving Maiev with more questions than she would prefer.

“Well, you have found me. What is it you wish?”

The girl in front of her bowed her head. “I am not sure. I just knew I needed to search you out. My name is Elerethe Renferal. I am a denizen of the dream…and a monster of the Nightmare.”

Maiev directed her senses further and found a shadow of curse lingering around her companion. Subtle, like a healed scar, with similar lack of power. It would not serve as a seed for further corruption.

“I understand. You…fought for Xavius?”

“Yes,” she nodded sadly. “I turned on my people. I blamed them for my death at the hands of the Horde when in truth it was a betrayal by demons. Xavius made it seem to convincing, so real, and my spirit…never was at rest.” She twisted her hands against her body. “I cannot begin…it was so horrible, Warden.”

A glint of unusual pity formed in Maiev’s eye. Having one’s mind twisted was a cruelty she knew well. Still, she played her part and pushed away all compassion.

“You are here to confess and determine if you are supposed to be caged,” said Maiev. “My reputation precedes me even to one such of you.”

Elerethe covered her face with her hands. “I am not sure. I know…I know I have been forgiven and may be at peace here within the Dream. I still remember, though. Every second of that torture, brought by my own mind. The hatred, the fear, the loathing.”

Maiev allowed her Warden self to manifest. Her glaive sprung up in the grass under her palm. Armor surrounded her face and a cage embraced her body for the first time in many of the world’s moons. 

“Tell me of your wrongdoings,” she demanded, her voice as hard and gray as iron. “And I will judge you.”

“I failed, Warden, to restore the Alterac Valley. I failed to save my allies and my enemies. I died believing I was betrayed and clung to that misconception as I bled to death on the stones. Elune’s light drove me away and I chased my rage until Xavius found me. He gave me an outlet, helped me believe the wrongness until it consumed my logic. Then I…I changed.” She stood and stepped back and Maiev’s muscles tensed in anticipation. “I became a monster and I adored it.”

The girl twisted unnaturally and her form elongated and darkened until she was obsidian flame. A Nerubian form reared up and chittered its mandibles in a way no druid should. Its pose was aggressive and Maiev saw the shift in the motive. When the first claw came down, she was already out of range, prepared and battle-ready. The spider turned and sprayed a web of sickness that Maiev easily dodged to avoid the poison Elerethe spat on the ground.

Maiev did not strike. This was an act of survival and patience. They dueled as such, the Warden and the Druid, the monsters against each other. Neither would tire, she realized, and the only way to break the impasse would be something more clever than endless evasion. When the next claw came down, Maiev willed a leather whip into existence and wrapped it around the front legs, hobbling her. Another three came to Maiev’s hands and with ease she lashed her target to the ground. In a test of wills, Maiev would win. 

“As much as you think you’re a monster,” Maiev hissed to the writhing spider, “you still view yourself as a creature of good heart. If you did not, you would have shifted already and ripped off these bonds. I am a monster and a Warden. My weapons are the extension of myself.”

The spider melted into a trussed woman who glared at Maiev with burning, tearful eyes. Another whip manifested in Maiev’s hand, a thin single-tail of soft leather, and Maiev knew her other role.

She snapped it across the druid’s body, cracking it above her ear and the druid flinched. Maiev looked down at her prey and spoke.

“Is this what you believe you need, child? An expungement of your sins?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I sought you in the hopes you would punish me for the crimes I have committed.”

A talon split the clothing across Elerethe’s back, leaving the bare flesh to develop goosebumps in the warm air. Maiev looked about her and waved her hand, bringing a tangling thicket to encase the two of them. The grass and vines might speak their acts but no sentient creature would bear witness. Though she meant a natural form, the plants crystallized into polished stones and curving sigils, the marks of her vault. She shook her head at the inevitability and brought the whip back, then snapped it down.

Maiev could flog the skin off a demon’s hide with terrifying precision, removing a scale at a time in terrible agony. This was equal skill, wielded with a careful hand. The lash licked the edges of Elerethe’s ribs and danced over her shoulder blades. The pain the girl now experienced was fleeting and light. She suffered nonetheless, unpracticed in the ways of receiving torture, unused to the hells of physical destruction. The act of believing you deserved your punishment was one of the best tortures Maiev could devise. Stasis was awful, the mind locked in endless contemplation while the body could do nothing, for the same reason. 

In this act, there was no pleasure. Indeed, Maiev wished she didn’t have to do this. This child, this sad druid, had no sin she truly needed to cleanse. Maiev did so nonetheless.

Her sense of when to stop came from the girl’s own body. The cries of pain were more strained and she had begun to shake, her body failing to compensate for the insults. Maiev put aside the whip.

Maiev bent beside her and stroked Elerethe’s hair aside, her lips at the ear of her prey. “You succumbed to madness and rage in the presence of a force that corrupted a demi-god. You died in torment. Your actions were not your own. Be free of your burden, druid. You are not guilty.”

There was no reply from the bound form. With her glaive, Maiev split apart the bonds and threw them aside. She took the cloak of her armor and turned it so the blades faced away from their skin. Then she tucked it around the young woman. Her back was barely scored and reddened. It would perhaps stop hurting and mend completely once the druid thought to heal it. She did not.

Maiev set aside her armor and it vanished, leaving her clad in simple garments once again. She sat beside the girl and tried to whisper things of comfort but she made no response. Maiev brought herself back to Mitha and Naisha, and shook off her reluctance. She lay down and readjusted the cloak so she was face to face with Elerethe and kissed her on the forehead. She wished she could will more kindness into this world but that was not who she was. She was warden and torturer. She had been the lover of one woman and never a loving companion. In here, she instead channeled those who had cared for her. She touched the girls face, drew her mouth down her neck, whispered what she would do to her body if given consent.

Elerethe shivered and gripped tighter, nodding, pushing herself into Maiev’s body. Maiev undressed her and splayed her out, lavishing attention on her body with her mouth and fingers. She lingered on her breasts when she found the nipples made her writhe in pleasure, being careful not to administer pain here as well. It was hard to control the lance of sharpness she wanted to add, but right now she sensed all Elerethe wanted was a ceasing of pain.

Maiev opened Elerethe’s legs and positioned herself between them. With a deep and strong movement of her tongue, she parted the soft folds and let her tongue explore the recesses of a woman’s body. She had forgotten what it was like to bring unadulterated pleasure to someone else. Even the hunter, even Mitha, had turned her aside. It was satisfying to hear her lover sound happy and soon beg for the release of pleasure. Maiev assented and the young woman arched once, pulled Maiev closer, and relaxed once again.

Maiev left her head on Elerethe’s thigh and let the woman twirl her hair around her fingers. Light began pouring down on them as the warden’s walls lost their form without Maiev’s attention. Her companion shifted once and the light dimmed once more. Arching branches melded into a roof and the ground beneath them rose into a bed. Windows let in a scant bit of light and a breeze brushed over Maiev’s back. The druid tugged her hands upwards and Maiev crawled up Elerethe’s body.

“Thank you, Maiev,” she murmured. Maiev said nothing more.

\--

They made love frequently, never anything but sweet and relaxing, and Maiev enjoyed the monotony as much as she missed the spice. Elerethe knew the Dream better than Maiev ever could and too her to hidden places, caverns and winding giant plants that wrapped around mountains the Maelstrom had never split. Achingly beautiful, a world that the world had never known, and Maiev envied those who had spent 10,000 years here instead of beneath the earth.

Yet Maiev knew they would travel until Elerethe’s spirit was able to reside peacefully in the Dream. This had been a temporary stop on whatever journey the dead made within its eternal form. Whether Elerethe was trying to slow or speed it from happening she never said. They never spoke out loud what was going to happen. In time, her companion became less corporeal, spoke less, touched Maiev less. One day, she reached her fingers out to Maiev and fluttered them across Maiev’s cheek. They passed through in a breath of warm air and then the druid was gone. Maiev stood alone in that forest and permitted a few tears, then kept walking.

She had been Illidan’s torturer, keeper, lover for so long that she thought perhaps their souls had intersected somewhere beyond her reach in the warp of the universe. She knew when he passed from this world, and from Argus, or wherever he had gone, beyond her reach, beyond the reach of mortality. She looked up at the evergreen sky, six suns, a thousand moons, or one sun and two moons. She spoke a name allowed.

“Malfurion,” she shouted to the air. “Archdruid, Lord of the Dream. Present yourself to me.”

From beyond the field a figure formed and coalesced from the mist. Feet touched the ground first as shadow and then as physical flesh, bending the blades of grass with sandal clad feet. Arms with wings, a head with branching antlers, and a grizzled face of silence and seriousness came towards her and towered over her form.

“Maiev,” he said. “I had not expected your summons. So soon have you called me after coming to the Dream.”

“He is gone, is he not?” Her finger, a talon, suddenly clad in silver armor pointed towards his chest. “Your brother…”

“He is,” intoned Malfurion. “He has gone to be the jailer of Sargeras, to fight and capture the Titan so he may never threaten the universe again.” He gazed down at her his ineffable eyes bearing pity and barely concealed grief. “He is the Savior of this world as much as he has been a destroyer.”

Her rage at Illidan she could not conjure, not the way she had before. She realized that for the first time in her life, he was beyond her reach, eternally and completely. She could no more chase Illidan than she could chase the moon with her glaive. In that moment, something broke, something she had thought broken already and she found herself trembling before the Elder Druid.

His hand on her shoulder provided scant steadiness but she did not shake it off. It was done. Her long hunt, the truth of what he was what she was, vanished beyond her grasp. It was not the same as in Outland, where she had his body to guard. She had known when she took the demon hunter into her care that one day he might return. This was finality. Illidan was gone. And with him he took the Warden Shadowsong.

“Awaken me, Shan’do,” she said quietly. “I have no need of the dream any longer.”

“Are you sure Maiev?” His voice was kind and worried. “You still need time to heal, to rest. I see your soul bears fewer marks of the torment you have suffered but you are scarcely healed. The dream will welcome you.”

“I know. But it no longer holds the answers I need. I am not a dreamer, Shan’do Stormrage. I am one who walks the earth.”

He touched his finger to the middle of her forehead and the green, eternal and welcoming, dissolved away like rain on a window. She found herself curled up among soft blankets on the cool floor. The druid tender looked over towards her in confused concern and helped her rise. She had thought her body might have shriveled during her long sleep, but she found herself as refreshed as if she had stepped out of bed after a single night.

She left the cavern and climbed the spiral steps into the Dreamgrove. Druids still flew and cavorted with each other in the trees. There was an aura of great joy but also the feeling of discontent. Something had happened. Something had changed.

She found Malfurion where he stood by Cenarius He looked at her and she looked at him. Cenarius bowed low and disappeared in a whirl of beating hooves, leaving the two alone.

“You are awakened, Maiev Shadowsong. What do you wish to do now?”

“I do not know. Your brother was my life’s work. Now he is gone. And while the Dream is beautiful, I am one who wakes. And while the stars are beautiful, I live beneath the earth. There is no place, no land or sky, no sea or forest, that will hold me. There’s nothing left in this world for me, nothing else I wish.”

She looked far to the south, where she had tried to break her body upon the rocks. She remembered the feel of Illidan’s claw on her shoulder and his admonishment. She would be free to end her life but the act seemed desolate, no longer appealing. Life was what she had to pursue. That was her penance. She looked towards the druid and he nodded.

“So be it. Wherever you choose to travel, know the dream will be with you. You may return, with my blessing and my freedom.” He reached his hand down and pressed her hand between his. The green seal burned and briefly and then sunk beneath the skin, hiding within the veins of her hand. “Should you wish, this place will give you entry.

She walked away towards the stable of hippogriffs and flung herself upon one’s back. The shrieking bird carried her to Dalaran, to a future she had not yet chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the thing. There's another chapter that is legit 100% self-indulgence because I didn't want such a downer ending. It is so absolutely ridiculous that the story can stand without it. We'll see if I change my mind!


End file.
